


Another Life

by TolraisGrey



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Good Draco Malfoy, Ravenclaw Hermione, Slytherin Harry, Slytherins Being Slytherins
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-12
Updated: 2016-12-05
Packaged: 2018-03-01 04:30:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 44,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2759678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TolraisGrey/pseuds/TolraisGrey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A baby boy is sent to live with his aunt, uncle and cousin after his parents are brutally murdered by Voldemort. Think you know this story? Think again...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy were in every respect, the perfect followers of the Dark Lord. Influential enough to have power in the Ministry, and subtle enough in their fidelity to their Lord, that if the the unthinkable were to happen, and he were defeated, they would be able to claim that their loyalty to him had been forced. And so, they lived, complacent in the knowledge that whatever happened, they would come out the best in this war.

Their happiness was only increased when their son was born. A pampered child, with his father's colouring and his mother's eyes. Lucius and Narcissa doted on their first-born, even when it was more proper for purebloods to leave such early stages of childbirth to the House elf.

Which was why, when Lucius came to to tell his wife some...unsettling news, it was in the Nursery that he found, cradling their two week old child.

“Narcissa.” he said, his tone grave enough to merit a worried look from her. Giving the baby to the cringing house elf the corner of the room, she crossed the room to where her husband was standing and caught his hands in hers.

“What is it, my love?” she asked tenderly. Surely they could not have been discovered?

“The Dark Lord himself wishes to visit us. He displayed interest in Draco.”

Narcissa smiled quizzically.

“And why on earth does that trouble you, Lucius? If our Lord wants to honour us with his presence, I do not understand why you look as though someone had just told you Dumbledore has become Minister...”she trailed off. The grave look on her husband's face was beginning to scare her, for Merlin's sake!

“Because, some of our Lord's requests were not quite, dare I say sane?” he sighed before resting his forehead against that of his wife. “But we must show our loyalty, in any case. However, I think, just in case my fears are founded that we should put in place some precautions...”

A little while later, the tall pale figure of Lord Voldemort appeared, silently in front of the gates of Malfoy Manor. They opened instantly for him and stalked up the driveway, smiling coldly at the ostentatious display of wealth.

“White peacocks, Lucius...” he murmured. Still, he supposed he could allow his followers their quirks, as long as they stayed loyal. And it was loyalty that Voldemort wanted now, plus a little more help. He needed to experiment, to further his power. And the Malfoys had just acquired an item with which he could do just that.

So he was more than a little irritated when only Lucius was there to welcome into his home. The blond aristocrat almost cringed as he saw his master, and Voldemort allowed a hint of distaste through his usually expressionless mask. Was Malfoy _grovelling?_ How pathetic.

“My Lord, it is a honour, please come through, we have-” he was silenced as the Dark Lord held up a long white hand.

“Spare me your pleasantries, Lucius. Did you discuss my proposal with your wife?” he asked, voice curt. Malfoy started to stammer and growing weary he resorted to his more direct method of information gathering. Crimson eyes met grey, and the Dark Lord smiled once more as he -

was stopped abruptly by impenetrable mental walls.

Furious in disbelief, Voldemort glared at Malfoy.

“Is this treachery Lucius?” he demanded, stalking across the room, an aura of killing intent surrounding him.

“No my Lord. But if you truly meant what you said earlier. If you want to _take my son_ and mould him into a weapon, then I am sorry. I _am_ faithful to you my Lord, never doubt that. But my loyalty to my family comes before that.” Despite himself, Voldemort was impressed. Although Lucius was clearly terrified, his voice had not shaken once, and he stood firm. But this would _not_ be countenanced.

“ _Where are they Lucius?_ You _dare_ defy me???” he hissed, outraged. And as if to stoke the flames of Voldemort's fury, Malfoy was _smiling._

“So I was right. You do wish to take Draco. To use magic so Dark even the _Blacks_ would quail at using it.”

That was it. Snapping his wand at the unexpected traitor, the Dark Lord enunciated clearly as he spoke his spell.

“ _Crucio.”_

Up in the Nursery, a tear fell as Narcissa heard her husband's scream of pain. She cradled her new-born tightly. Hugging him as tight as she dared without hurting him, she kissed him gently on his forehead. She allowed her self this one short moment of pain, fear and desperation, before pulling a pureblood mask over her features once again. She turned once more to Dobby, their House elf, and for the first time, addressed the creature with something that was neither contempt or distaste.

“Dobby. Take Draco to my sister. Andromeda, Dobby, _not_ Bella. He will be safe there. This letter too, make sure she gets it. I only hope she will accept my actions and not turn my son out to live in some Mudblood orphanage.” she let out a shuddering sigh, trying to hold back more tears. “Oh, and Dobby? Whatever happens, I want you to protect my son.” She paused, and the little elf's enormous eyes widened even further. “Thank you Dobby, that will be all.”

“Yes Mistress!” The elf squeaked, and vanished with a loud crack. Taking Draco with him.

Only then did she realise that downstairs things had grown silent. And that the Dark Lord had just appeared in the doorway.

“Stand aside, you silly girl.” he said, and like her husband before her, Narcissa smiled. A sad smile, that of someone who knows that there are only seconds between them and death, and there is nothing that they can do. The smile of someone who has accepted their fate.

“He is not here any longer, my Lord.” she said tonelessly. “And I doubt you will find him easily. My,” she faltered, on the verge of breaking down again. “My husband?”

“Lucius did not stand up so well to my Cruciatus.” Voldemort sneered. “He broke. A pity, I suppose, but still, what use have I for either of _you_ , if you betray me so easily?” he added, voice almost thoughtful. He aimed his wand at Narcissa, all precision and no passion. “Still, I am sure I can force the answer out of somehow. “ But before his spell could hit, Narcissa had already sipped the tiny bottle of poison that had been hanging from her neck, and crumpled lifelessly on the floor.

The Dark Lord shrieked in wordless rage and the mirror over the mantelpiece shattered in an indignant screech. He stalked over to the body and performed a diagnostic spell. After all, Narcissa was a Slytherin, and wouldn't it be just like a Slytherin to have faked her death. But no. Unless he was wrong, and Lord Voldemort was _never_ wrong, Narcissa Malfoy was most definitely deceased.

He grimaced irritably. Now it would take him days to fulfil his plan, when everything was prepared now. But just then, a voice came from a pocket in his robes.

“My Lord.” a fervent voice called. Ah. Severus. Smoothing his features the best he could, he drew the mirror from his robes.

“What news, Severus?” he inquired. Dear god the man looked dreadful. But what he lacked in looks, Severus Snape made up for in skill, there was no doubt about that. Panting slightly the greasy haired man imparted his news.

“A prophecy my Lord. I overheard at the Hogs Head. According to the Seer, one with the power to vanquish you, my Lord approaches. He will be born at the end of next month, Master.”

“Tell me all you know.” He demanded imperiously. Someone who could defeat him? That was impossible surely, and yet prophecy never lied.

“I did not hear much my lord.” Snape stammered. “Dumbledore caught me before I could hear everything and-”

“Spare me your excuses. Tell. me. What. Was. _Said_.”

“I believe it was; 'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches...Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies..' That is what I heard my Lord.”

Voldemort cocked his head as he thought, before apparating to Snape's location. Once there, the dark haired man flinched in fear as the Dark Lord forced himself into the memory.

 _Those who have thrice defied me...either the Potters the Longbottoms then. And would it not be_ so _more satisfying to use my own enemies as a weapon rather than those who follow me? It would be a blow to that fool Dumbledore, if his precious light magic were defeated in such a way. The Malfoy whelp can live. It is beneath me to go traipsing across the country just to use a child. No, using either a Potter or Longbottom brat has infinitely more poetry to it._ He grinned a predator's grin, cold and vicious. _And then, I will_ truly _be unstoppable._

 


	2. The Vanishing Breakfast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet the family 10 years down the road

Nearly 11 years had passed since the Malfoys' deaths, and in a house in the country, a family slept. As the sun rose, it glinted off the pond in the garden, its rays sneaking into the house, warming the plants on the windowsills. It was a family home, and from the outside, it looked like any normal house. But inside, there were little hints that _this_ house was different. The pictures on the walls held moving, laughing images. Here a family of three – a beautiful woman with dark brown hair and smiling grey eyes, a big bellied man with sandy hair, and a little girl who's own locks seemed to be shifting through colours – pink, red, black blonde. In later pictures, the girl grew up, became more confident, and was accompanied in many of the photos by a young boy with white blonde hair and quicksilver eyes. In the largest, which hung in pride of place over the mantelpiece, upon which there was a large earthenware jar labelled _Floo Powder_ , the four inhabitants of the house posed happily, the older girl occasionally ruffling the hair of the younger boy much to his indignation.

As the sun rose higher, the sounds of life began to filter through the house. A wireless shattered the previously peaceful morning as strains of 'This is Night' by the Weird Sisters drifted out, accompanied by the clanking of cutlery and the sizzling of a cooked breakfast. The smell drifted up to the currently sleeping inhabitant of the attic, but it wasn't until his aunt's shout that he started into wakefulness.

“Draco Malfoy! If you don't get down here right now, there won't be any breakfast!”

He grinned as he sat up, stretching before grabbing a clean t-shirt from the pile by his bed. There was no way aunt 'Dromeda would really live up to her threat.

“Are you up yet?” his aunt demanded, sounding like she was actually below the loft door.

“Nearly!” said Draco as he attempted to find a matching pair of socks, before shrugging and going for odd ones. His aunt's smile matched his as he lifted the attic door open and slid the ladder down.

“There you are! Come on, before Ted and Dora eat all the bacon.” she said, tutting as she flattened his bed head. Draco started to protest before wondering why on earth Dora was there, when she had her _own flat_ now...

They entered the kitchen and his uncle and cousin abruptly stopped their conversation. Draco frowned, a look of hurt and confusion on his face. There was a place set for aunt 'Dromeda, and Dora and Ted had their own plates piled high with bacon, scrambled eggs mushrooms and toast, but there wasn't anything on his plate. They hadn't _actually_ eaten his breakfast had they? Then Dora snickered, and the plate shimmered, revealing a full untouched meal. But it wasn't the only thing that appeared, as at the end of the table, a small pile of presents was rapidly appearing. Draco groaned.

How could he have forgotten his own birthday? Well, he hadn't _really_ , but he was only half awake, and _of course_ that was why Dora was here...

“Happy birthday sprout.” Dora was saying as he took his place at the table, heartily tucking into his birthday breakfast. “You should have seen your _face_! Still this gets you back for waking me up at 4 in the morning last Christmas.” she grinned mischievously, eyes twinkling under the fringe she turned blonde in honour of the occasion.

“Yeah, thanks a lot _Nymphadora._ Because hiding someone's breakfast and presents is a totally normal response to being woken up at Christmas, when you're _supposed_ to!”

Kissing her husband as she sat down, Andromeda Tonks smiled fondly at her daughter and nephew. True, they might be bickering now, but in five minutes or so, all would be forgiven – especially once Draco saw the ridiculous amount of Honeyduke's and Zonko's merchandise Dora had got him. Her smile grew distant as she thought back to the day that Draco had appeared, quite literally in their lives and turned them upside down.

It was a Thursday, and she had finally persuaded Dora to go to sleep on pain of a week of chores, when the whip crack of Apparition had resounded though the house. She and Ted had clutched at each other, fearing that somehow the Death Eaters had broken through their wards, here to punish them for Andromeda's 'betrayal'. Instead, the creature that awaited them in their kitchen was house elf, cowering at their drawn wands.

“Please do not be hurting Dobby, Mistress!” he had begged. “Mistress Narcissa is telling Dobby to come here, telling him to bring the little master. She is saying that Master Draco is being safe here.” The large green eyes filled with tears as the little elf trembled, holding up his bundle. Two large blue eyes stared solemnly up At Andromeda as she took the baby, dumbfounded.

“My sister...” she managed to ask as she rocked back and forth gently, the instincts of a mother coming back to here. Dobby cringed.

“He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named Mistress. He came for little Master Draco, but Mistress Narcissa _stood up to him_!” A detached part of Andromeda noted she hadn't actually thought it possible for House elves' eye to actually go that wide. Then realised the implications of Dobby's sentence and it was all she could do not to break down there and then. “Mistress Narcissa gave Dobby a letter for Mistress Andromeda, if Mistress is wanting to read it...”

In a daze, Andromeda handed the baby over to Ted, and took the letter that Dobby was proferring.

_My Dear sister,_

_I know it is many years since we last spoke, other than to hurl accusations at one another, but I must put aside any animosity I harbour, any pride, and beg you for help. Very soon, the Dark Lord will be here. Lucius tells me that he wants to use Draco in some unhallowed ritual to prolong the Dark Lord's life. A ritual so dark even_ our _ancestors quailed at using it. I will_ not _see my son twisted into some weapon, some_ thing _that the dark Lord is that bit more unkillable. Yes, you may doubt me, but family_ always _comes first. That is what we were always taught, is not? Dromeda, I beg of you now, remember those words. I know you have a daughter, and I wish now that I could have seen her before. Before. I beg of you, to take my son, raise him as if he were your own – yes, your own Dromeda, let him live and love freely, and not as we were forced to. You may tell him we were monsters if you wish, or tell him nothing of us at all. But please, for_ his _sake, keep him safe._

_With all my heart_

_Cissy_

 

 

Clutching the letter to her chest, Andromeda had begun to weep. For the sister she had lost, the girl she had once loved so dearly before another love had torn them apart. She showed it to Ted, unable to speak, and he had read it, sandy brows furrowing deeper with every line.

“Dromeda. She can't be serious? Surely they'll come looking, we have Dora to worry about, she can't expect us to-”

“She can't do anything Ted. She can't do anything ever again.” A little voice from the doorway distracted them, and Andromeda did her best to wipe the tear tracks from her face.

“Why's there a baby mummy? He's cute... can we keep him?” The baby looked around with solemn grey eyes, and suddenly realising the comforting presence of his mother was nowhere to be found, screwed his face up and began to cry. The infant wails were replaced by coos of wonder as Dora, peering into the bundle her father held in his hands, matched her hair to his, bubblegum pink being replaced by soft falls of silver blonde hair.

After that, things had happened ridiculously fast. Andromeda had contacted her cousin Sirius, with Dobby's help, remembering a rumour she'd heard about an organisation at work, something he apparently had something to do with. And after all, as Narcissa had said, family should always come first. And so Sirius had shown up, for once not laughing and joking, if a bit taken aback to meet is second cousins. With the help of the mousy young man with an oddly scarred face, who had accompanied him, and after some intense conversation, the 'Order of the Phoenix' had agreed to help. They had set up wards and other discouragements that should, with luck, hold to protect the suddenly expanded household.

Of course, only a year or so after that, You-Know-Who had fallen, Sirius betrayed everyone he loved, and Harry Potter had become the saviour of the Wizarding World. But life had gone on in the Tonks household, arguments raised and settled, and when Draco was 7, after two summers of squabbling when Dora returned home, Draco's belongings had been transferred into to a newly created bedroom in the Attic space. This was after a fight that had almost come to hexes, over Draco 'leaving all his stuff _everywhere_ Mum, can't you _do something_???'. But the four of them had become a tightly knit family, loyal and loving to a fault.

“Mum?” Dora's voice drew Andromeda out of her reverie, and as she looked at the expectant faces of her husband, daughter and nephew, realised she been asked a question.

“Sorry, I was miles away. What was that dear?”

“'Mal' asked when Ron and the rest that lot were coming.” Dora rolled her eyes. “As if you actually went and changed your name.”

“If you can be 'Tonks', I can be 'Mal'” Draco responded, with surprising dignity for a newly turned 11 year old. Which was promptly ruined by him shoving an entire bacon rasher in his mouth in one go, but still.

Ignoring her daughter's disgusted scoff at 'Mal's' antics, Andromeda responded to the question.

“They'll be coming straight after school, I think, Draco. So make sure your room is tidy before you leave.” seeing him open his mouth, she forestalled the question she knew was coming. “And no, you may not ask Dobby, I don't care if it's your birthday.” Smiling wryly at his aggrieved expression, she glanced at the clock and gasped. “Ted, Dora, you need two get going, you're going to be late!”

Hastily downing her coffee with after a muttered 'Merlin's pants', Dora gave her cousin a clumsy hug, before heading to the fireplace in the lounge. Ted ruffled Draco's hair, finishing his mug of tea and putting it down on the side table in the hall before going out the back to Apparate to work. Following him out to retrieve it, she came back in to find Draco's nose currently buried in the latest issue of _Loony Nonby vs Cornish Pixie_. Rolling her eyes fondly, she tugged it out of his hands, knowing that if left, he would be there until the last possible second before they had to leave.

“Aunt 'Drom!” he pleaded, attempting puppy-dog eyes.

“No, Draco, I know you. Come on, you're going to be late for school, and we wouldn't wouldn't want you to miss being overdosed on contraband sweets now would we?” Andromeda said wryly. Draco grinned sheepishly, and after a thwarted attempt to sneak his comic upstairs, he set to getting ready for the day. Setting the dishes to wash themselves, Andromeda listened to the thumps of her nephew presumably prying his shoes out from wherever he thrown them the night before.

 _Why did he have to follow in Ted and Dora's footsteps_ , she mused, exasperated but amused. A few moments later, Draco appeared in the doorway again, flushed with exertion and fine hair, once again in disarray.

“Ready!” he announced.

“Have you got your book bag?” Andromeda inquired, and he grinned sheepishly, before haring back upstairs. Collecting her things and heading out to the hall, she waited for the herd of elephants to come back downstairs.

“ _Now_ I’m ready.” Draco corrected, and with that they set off. It was only a short walk to Draco's school, a Muggle primary, that he attended at Ted's insistence. It was the same one Dora had gone to, Ted being of the impression that while magic was obviously a key part of their family's life, it _might_ be a good idea if Draco could at least learn to write and at least understand the basic principles of science and geography, areas in which Andromeda had to admits were rather lacking in magical education. And as she had realised when meeting Ted's parents, not even knowing what electricity was did tend to rather make you stand out in Muggle company.

She just worried sometimes, what effect it would have on Draco when he left for Hogwarts – it was always something Ted and Dora had had trouble with.

But still, for now Draco was happy, and she let his excited chatter brighten her day, silently marvelling at the funny, confident and occasionally mischievous boy her sister's son had become.

_I hope you're proud of him, Cissy, wherever you are..._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed :) I'll try to update everyday until I've caught up with the full story. (So, like a week). Also chapter length takes a jumps soon, which I'm sure you're devastated about


	3. Chapter 3

“Happy Birthday Mal!” Ron called, as he stumbled from the fireplace. Mal sprang up from the couch, where he'd been fidgeting for the last ten minutes, to catch Ron as he fell forward.

“Easy there! Thanks mate.” Mal said, coughing slightly at the disturbed ash.

“Anyone else here yet?” Ron asked, looking around the room and realising it was empty.

“Nah, you're the first. Anthony and Michael should be coming. Neville too, if he actually asked his Grandmother.” the two boys shared a look of sympathy, both having met Neville's fearsome grandmother before. Knowing Neville, he might have been to scared to ask.

“Ouch. Oh hey, got you something.” Ron said producing a slightly battered present from his pocket. “Not much but...” he continued, the tips of his ears turning red. Ignoring his friend's self deprecation, he eagerly unwrapped the gift, and laughed. Inside was a scarf emblazoned with the double T of the Tutshill Tornadoes.

“Thanks Ron – that must have hurt you're pride to buy. Where did the Cannons come this year again?” laughing, Mal dodged out of the way as Ron lunged for the birthday boy.

A flash from the doorway caught their attention, and they immediately drew their fight to a halt, panting slightly. Giggling, Tonks pulled the camera beyond their reach.

“Ah ah. This is _so_ going in the album!” she teased. “Michael and Neville are here by the way. With Neville's Grandma...” 

Pausing only to shove each other as the reached the doorway, they careened into the hallway to rescue Neville from his Grandmother's clutches. Poor boy. Tonks grinned as she went to put the camera back somewhere safe, before going to be polite to Mrs Longbottom.

Mal, Neville and Ron had struck up an unusual friendship, thanks in part to Andromeda Tonks' force of will. Ron and Mal had been easy – Charlie, who'd been Tonks' partner in Herbology, had mentioned his brother was the same age as Mal, and that he didn't really have any friends his own age. They'd initially been wary of each other, but soon bonded over a love of Quidditch, Wizard Chess, comics, and exasperation with siblings (or cousins) with a fondness for practical jokes. The fact they were also, to a certain extent, outcasts for pureblood 'Society Tonks just hoped their friendship would survive should they be sorted into different Houses.

Neville on the other hand was a different matter. If Andromeda hadn't been so determined that Mal should have magical friends his own age, who wouldn't judge him for his heritage, Augusta Longbottom would probably have refused to let the Grandson she was convinced was a Squib to even leave the House. Honestly. Luckily, Neville seemed to have a little more self confidence these days, even if Ron and Mal despaired of him ever having the guts to stand up to his Grandmother.

Safely ensconced in Mal's room, he, Ron, Neville and Michael grinned as Mal showed them the motherlode of Zonko's merchandise that Tonks had got him. The grins widened as Mal unwrapped his other presents: the impressive gift of a pocket Sneakoscope from Neville, _Curses and Counter-Curses_ fromMichael, (and how he'd got his hands on that, when they weren't even supposed to be buying Hogwarts stuff yet) and from the later arrival of Anthony, a ridiculous pile of sweets.

“Thanks! I have a feeling that these will combine very satisfactorily. Yes...” Mal ducked as three pillows forestalled his attempt an an evil laugh. 

The rest of the birthday was a definite success. Uncle Ted and Tonks had put together a scavenger hunt in the garden, resulting in five muddy but proud owners of miniature models. After which, far too much cake and other sugar was eaten. To avoid five hyperactive eleven years old, Tonks hastily suggested a game of pick-up Quidditch, which was only called to a halt as the other boys' respective guardians came to pick them up. A few hours later, an exhausted Mal lay happily in his bed, staring up at the slanted ceiling, practised eyes picking out the luminescent constellations on his Star Map. 

 

The rest of June passed agonisingly slowly, Mal gradually distancing himself from his primary school class mates, knowing he'd be off to Hogwarts in the autumn. It was at breakfast a few days into the holiday, when he'd spent five minutes glancing out the window at the slightest sign of movement, that Ted felt the need to comment on his nephews behaviour.

“Your Hogwarts letter won't get here any sooner if you fidget so much you wear a hole in your chair, Draco.” he said, wryly. Mal blushed, showing up starkly on his skin, which was still pale despite the sun's best efforts.

“I know...but I wish it would _get here already!”_

Ted chuckled at his impatience. After all, if he'd known about Hogwarts before a robed figure had turned up on their doorstep, he imagined he would have been just as impatient as his nephew. 

Fortunately for the nerves of everyone in the house, Mal's acceptance letter arrived the next, a whoop of exultation filtering down from the attic. It was followed shortly by the sound of someone sliding down a ladder, before hurried footsteps heralded the arrival of an ecstatic Mal.

“It's here, It's here, It's actually here!” he chanted, dancing around the dining room table, waving the parchment in the air.

“Read it aloud then,” Ted said, smiling. If only Andromeda had been able to postpone that appointment, but they hadn't known for sure when the letter was coming.

Mal cleared his throat, seeming to almost vibrate with excitement.

“' Dear Mr. Malfoy, We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at  Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry . Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on  1 September . We await your owl by no later than  31 July . Yours sincerely, Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress.' Finally! So when can we go to Diagon – oh can we go this weekend, after the game, oh, and can I get my own broom, pleease!” Mal's eye's were as wide open as they could go, and he was once again, bouncing on the spot.

“I think you need to remember to breathe son. And no, no brooms – first years aren't allowed, remember?” Ted reminded Mal gently. Chuckling at his disgruntled expression, he signed the acceptance form, and gave it to the owl that had followed Mal downstairs. “And I believe you're supposed to be at the Burrow today, aren't you?”

“Oh! I forgot.” Mal admitted. As he raced back upstairs to grab his thing, Ted thought he could make out a muffled 'I can't wait to tell Ron! I wonder if he's got his yet?'.

As it happened, it wasn't until the 31 st of July that anyone was able to take Mal to Diagon Alley. Andromeda had had a Healing emergency the weekend they were intending to go, and Ted had taken time off work already for their family holiday. In the end, Tonks managed to finagle a few hours out of training, under the firm understanding that she was to make them up, no excuses allowed. But Mal didn't care. He was going to Diagon Alley to buy his things. He was going to Hogwarts in September. And the best things  _ always _ happened in Diagon.

 

Harry Potter was in a state of stunned disbelief. Only a few hours earlier, although it seemed like forever, a giant man had broken into the old shack where his uncle and aunt had had them hiding, and told him he was a wizard. Now he was in _Wizarding London_ , after just having visited a bank _run by goblins_. This was definitely the best birthday Harry had ever had. 

“Might as well get your uniform,” said Hagrid, nodding towards  _ Madam Malkin's Robes for all occasions _ . “Listen Harry, would you mind if I slipped off fer a pick-me-up in the Leaky Cauldron? I hate them Gringotts Carts.” He did still look a bit sick, so Harry entered Madam Malkin's shop alone, feeling nervous.

Madam Malkin was a squat, smiling witch, dressed all in mauve.

“Hogwarts, dear?” she said, when Harry started to speak. “Got the lot here – another young man being fitted up just now, in fact.” 

In the back of the shop, a boy with a faintly freckled, pointed face was standing on a footstool while a second witch pinned up his long robes. Madam Malkin stood Harry on a stool next to him, slipped a long robe over his head and began to pin it to the right length.

“Hi!” said the boy, grinning. “Hogwarts too?”

“Yes, said Harry.

“My cousin's next door buying books – she's got to get back to Training soon, and then after that we're going to Ollivander's” The boy had a friendly voice, quick, with a twinge of Estuary. “'Course, if we get time, I’ll drag her off to look at racing brooms – not she'll complain, I expect.” A note of complaint entered his voice. “I still don't understand why first years can't have their own brooms – if Aunt Drom wouldn't kill me for it I’d blackmailing Tonks into helping smuggle one in.” for a second, Harry was reminded of Dudley, before realising the boy was only joking. And he actually cared what his Aunt thought.

“Have you got your own broom?” The boy went on.

“No,” Harry replied.

“Nor have I – well, not  _ really _ – It's Dora's Tonks' old one though – my cousin's, that is. She reckons it's still better than the school's though. He pulled a face of mock horror. “D'you play Quidditch, at all?”

“No,” Harry repeated, wondering what on earth Quidditch was, and what was so terrible about school brooms. 

“Shame. It's brilliant – Tornadoes fan myself. A bunch of us play sometimes too – not proper though, no one'll let let us use an actual Bludger.” He put on a high pitched voice. “It's face too dangerous!” He continued, reverting to his normal tone. “Still, I’d love to play for my House – Tonks thinks I could get on to a team as well, depending on what position I play. What House do you think you'll be in?” the boy asked Harry, brows raised expectantly.

“Um.” Harry started, feeling stupid, and the other boy blushed.

“Oh, sorry!” he exclaimed. “Are you Muggle-born? Honestly,” he groaned. “Here I am prattling on about Houses and Quidditch and probably don't have a clue what I’m going on about do you?” he looked at Harry sheepishly. Harry smiled, a little uncertainly. It was the first time anyone his own age had actually cared what Harry felt or thought. But then, he was the first person Harry's own age who hadn't been introduced to him by Dudley or aunt Petunia. Then he realised the other boy was waiting for an answer.

“Um, not really. My parents were magic, but they died when I was a baby, so I was brought up by my aunt and uncle. And they...really don't like magic.”

Harry's confession was followed by an awkward silence, and while the blond haired boy's face was full of sympathy, he seemed to be a loss for what to say.

Fortunately distraction came in the very large form of Hagrid, who was standing at the window, pointing at the ice cream cone in his hand to show why he couldn't come in. He also seemed to have acquired a  _ pink _ haired young woman, who in the process of earnestly explaining something to Hagrid, had somehow manage to daub the robes of a passing wizard with her own ice cream, thanks to an over enthusiastic gesture. Next to Harry, the other boy groaned in embarrassment. 

“Someone you know?” Harry asked, trying to hide his smile. The boy glanced at him from the corner of his eye, smirking at the young woman's escapades. She seemed to have got the worst of the ice cream off, at least.

“Yeah...that would be my cousin Tonks – oh, my name's Mal, by the way.” He stuck out a hand, somewhat impeded by a sleeve glittering with pins.

“Harry.”

Mal's eyes widened, and he opened his mouth as if to ask a question, before thinking better of it.

“Nice to meet you Harry. Is that Hagrid out there?”

“Yeah, he brought me here. And he's brilliant.” Harry said faithfully.

“Stark raving mad is what I heard.” Mal retorted, in wry amusement. “But then, all the best people are. Tonks had got some great stories. You should hear the one about-”

Before he could finish, Madam Malkin interrupted him, and shrugging, he jumped down of the stool.

“Maybe another time?” he continued as he deftly undid the newly altered robe. “Oh and Harry? Grab a copy of Quidditch through the ages if you can, well worth a look. Especially the bit on fouls!” He grinned wickedly, before becoming oddly serious, a look that seemed out of place considering that the rest of the time Mal seemed to have a permanent smirk. “Try and find a copy of Tales of the Founders, It's by Anne B Walsh, I think. It's a lot less biased than some of the other stuff out there when it comes to Houses.”

Harry wondered why an unbiased view was so important, but there was  _ something  _ in Mal's manner that didn't invite questions. And then it was gone as abruptly as it came, replaced by the initial chatty, friendly Mal of before. “See you at Hogwarts, Harry!” And with that, he was out of the shop, heading for the pink haired woman, Tonks, who greeted him with a friendly thump on the shoulder. Harry smiled as he watched them bicker, Mal pulling on Tonks arm as she said goodbye to Hagrid. Harry wondered  _ why _ Mal was with his cousin, and why he hadn't mentioned his parents at all. Then he remembered the fact that not so long ago, there had been a war, and that the look of sympathy on Mal's face hadn't been one of pity, but of understanding. So he didn't ask Hagrid if he knew who Mal was, on coming out of Madam Malkin's. He did however, take the other boy's advice and invest in a copy of  _ Quidditch Through the Ages _ , and  _ Tales of the Founders.  _ He briefly considered a copy of  _ Hogwarts: A History _ , before dismissing it as being too dry. Besides, mystery was half the fun.

 

Further down the street, as he looked wistfully at the Nimbus 2000 in the window of  _ Quality Quidditch Supplies _ , Tonks eyed her cousin thoughtfully. Her conversation with Hagrid had been illuminating, to say the least.

“So who was that with you in Madam Malkin's?” She asked casually. Too casually. Mal smirked before looking at her innocently.

“You mean Hagrid didn't tell you? He said his name was Harry. Why?”

Tonks struggled to stop her hair from turning red as she realised she'd been made.

_ Damn. Moody'll never let me live it down if he realises I got made by my kid cousin. _

“All right, you got me. So what did you think of the great Harry Potter then?” she asked curiously.

“So he  _ was _ Harry Potter then? Thanks Tonks, I wasn't actually 100 % sure. 99% maybe.” His painfully straight face cracked as Tonks gave an indignant squeak.

“You mean? You  _ sneaky _ little-” She managed to get out.

_ He is so going to Slytherin! _ She thought, grudgingly amused. Mal snickered.

“Sorry. I didn't ask his last name – you know how much I hate it if people gawp, so imagine what it must be like for the 'Boy-Who-Lived'” Tonks could here the air quotes in here cousin's voice, as well as the bitterness no eleven year old should use. She gave him a sympathetic squeeze, and unusually, considering they were in public, he let her.

Mal was in no way a celebrity like Harry Potter, the only person to survive a Killing Curse. But being the only son of Death Eaters, one of whom was tortured into insanity, the other having killed herself, to protect their son from their own  _ leader _ gave Mal a certain level of Notoriety. Mal and his family hated, and Andromeda in particular was furious with how much of it had somehow got into the  _ Daily Prophet. _

“OK, fair enough. But what was he like, really? Tonks persisted. Mal wriggled out of the hug, and turned to look at his cousin, frowning.

“He didn't know anything, Dora. When I asked him if he played Quidditch, he looked at me as if I had two heads. And his clothes...put it this way, it's a good thing we wear robes at Hogwarts. And he was dead skinny...”

Tonks' brow furrowed to match Mal's. Granted she hadn't seen much of Harry through the shop window, and she had been stuck on 'Oh my god Harry Potter' a little too much to notice anything specific, but still.

“And you think that's weird? You're a stick yourself, and you know you drive mum up the wall with all the clothes you wreck.” said Tonks, poking Mal in the ribs. He batted her hand away, half heartedly.

“That's different. It was just little things – like, if the Potters were rich like everyone says, why's he wearing hand-me-downs four sizes too big, and broken glasses? He reminded me of Reece Baines, actually.” Mal shifted uncomfortably, and Tonks could see why.

Reece Baines was a skinny little kid that had been in Mal's year 6 class. He had three elder brothers, and unemployed dad and a mum that worked two jobs, just to make ends meet. And there were rumours about the Baines family, one's that even a magical family in semi-hiding couldn't ignore. Mal was right, things didn't seem to add up.

_ I’ll get mum to put some Nutri-Potions in with Mal's stuff, and hopefully he'll twig. And as for me... _

“I'll see if there's anything I can dig up at work – no promises mind, our access to Muggle records is pretty limited. And you'll just have to look out for him, won't you?”

Mal finally smiled again, satisfied that for the moment, he'd done all he could. Now, if only he could persuade Tonks to go halves on that Nimbus...

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would have uploaded this later, but our internet is seriously screwed at the moment, so I'm doing when I can. Feedback is always appreciated!


	4. Journey from Platform 9 3/4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hogwarts and the Sorting grows ever nearer

“Draco Malfoy, if you don't go to bed _right_ _now_ , We are not taking to the station tomorrow, you can make your own way there.” Andromeda threatened as she heard her nephew one the stairs. He froze guiltily, before popping his round his aunt and uncles' door.

“Sorry, I can't sleep, and I wanted to check that I-”

“Bed. Now.” Seeing the stern look on his aunt's face he fled, skipping rungs of his ladder to escape his aunt's wrath. He lay awake in frustration for about ten minutes, before a thought popped into his head. Aunt Andromeda had said he had to go to bed, not that he had to go _sleep._ Carefully, to avoid stepping on the squeaky floorboard, he crossed over to where his trunk lay. (well, Tonks' old one. At least Aunt Drom had got rid of all the graffiti.) Popping the lid open, he snuck out his birthday present from Michael, _Curses and Counter-Curses_ , and read until his eyes grew heavy. With a guilty start when he saw his alarm clock read half past 2, he hastily turned out his light, and tried to sleep.

It worked to a certain extent, but excitement combined with nervousness made for a fitful night, and when Mal woke at five in the morning, he was too excited to even try to go back to sleep. Instead he packed and repacked everything to make sure he wasn't missing anything, and then went got dressed – Muggle clothes as Uncle Ted was driving. He was downstairs and eating breakfast by half past six, causing Uncle Ted to do a double take.

“My God, you're up early. Is something important happening today?” he teased, putting the kettle on and putting bread on to toast. Mal's face fell for a moment, before scowling at his uncle.

“Not funny.” Mal told him, eyes narrowing further at Ted's hearty chuckle. Luckily, before Mal's lack of sleep caused him to say something rude, Aunt Andromeda breezed into the kitchen, looking, Mal thought, far too immaculate for before seven in the morning.

“Oh good, you're up and dressed – I don't have to chivvy you out of bed for once.”

“Aunt Drom! I’m not _that_ bad.” Mal complained as his aunt smiled impishly. Her smile dropped however, as she sat down opposite her nephew. She tutted.

“Honestly, did you get _any_ sleep last night?” she asked, rolling her eyes. “You look like a little panda, Draco.” Over by the toaster, Uncle Ted jumped to his defence.

“Do you blame him, Dromeda? I remember what I was like the night before first-year. And lets not forgot Dora waking up every half hour from three until six and groaning so loud every time it was too early that she woke us all up...”

Aunt Andromeda winced a little at the reminder and conceded the point. Mal hastily turned away as his uncle and aunt shared a kiss. It was nice they loved each other, but there were some things Mal never wanted to see at the breakfast table.

After a time, which seemed to be both forever and no time at all, Mal returning to his room at least five times before Aunt Andromeda lost her patience and used magic to pack the last of his things they were off to Kings Cross. Luckily, they didn't live so far from London, so they made good time. Mal couldn't imagine what it must be like for muggle-borns who lived further away. As they got out of the car, Mal couldn't help but notice that they drew a number of looks.

 _Archimedes probably doesn't help_ , he reflected, eyeing the owl that had been a late birthday present. _And even in muggle clothes, Aunt Drom always looks, well like a witch._

It wasn't necessarily in a bad way, but she did tend to favour long flowing skirts and blouses with generous sleeves. Fortunately, they got to platform 9 and ¾ without any issues, and they stood for a moment, admiring the scarlet steam engine that was the Hogwarts express. Uncle Ted helped Mal get his things on the train, and then the three of them stood on the platform no one knowing what to say.

“Well, this it.” Aunt Andromeda eventually said. “And you're sure you have everything?”

Mal nodded, rolling his eyes in mock exasperation.

“I saw that young man!” chided Aunt Andromeda, before drawing her nephew into a hug.

“Aunt Drom...” he groaned, before returning the embrace. Realising he wouldn't have another Aunt Andromeda hug, or an Uncle Ted hair ruffle or a Tonks play fight for another 3 and a half months, he felt his chest constrict, a sensation that had nothing to do with the arms encircling him.

“Be good.” she told him, smiling despite the misty look in her eyes.

“And if you can't be good.” Uncle Ted added, giving his nephew's shoulder a squeeze.

“Be careful.” He chorused, and the three of them shared a wry grin. That was it, really, and after Mal promised to write, they said goodbye and Mal got on the train.

Abruptly, the excitement was overwhelmed by lack of sleep, and so as soon as he got back to his compartment, which was still, thankfully empty, he flopped down on one of the seats, taking up most of the bench. A little while later, the compartment door slid open again. Mal cracked an eye open, and seeing it was Neville, smiled slightly before trying to go back to sleep.

“How was the rest of your summer, Mal?”

Mal grunted in response, and Neville laughed.

“Did you not sleep last night?” he asked.

“Neville...” he groaned. “What do you think?”. Just then the compartment door slid open _again_ and Mal gave up on all hope of sleeping the whole way to Hogwarts. Especially when he saw the two red topped heads that had pulled the door open.

“Ah, Master Malfoy -”

“- we thought we detected your dulcet tones...”

“Sod off and torment someone else Weasleys.” he muttered, and Fred, or possibly George, Mal wasn't sure gave a gasp of mock horror.

“Why, Master Malfoy, such _language!_ ”

“From such a fine young gentleman as yourself, as well!”

“Whatever would your aunt say?”

“Enough!” Mal growled, and the twins snickered. Usually he got on with them fairly well, but today Fred and George were giving him a headache.

“OK, OK. You spoil all our fun you know, Mal.” Fred said. Mal gave him a singularly unimpressed _look_.

“My heart bleeds.”

The twins gave a high pitched 'ooh'. Before there was a small, 'um' from behind them.

“Oh right!” George said. “Mind if – what was your name again ?” he turned to the boy behind him.

“Harry.”

Mal grinned. He couldn't wait to see how long it took before the twins worked out who he was.

“Right. Mind if Harry shares with you two?”

“Fine by me.” Neville said quietly, giving Harry a wary smile.

“Be my guest.” Mal said sitting up, and gesturing to the now free seat.

With the help of everyone in the compartment, Harry trunk was swiftly put away in a corner of the compartment.

“Thanks, everyone.” Harry said, pushing sweaty hair out his eyes. Mal smirked as he caught the mark on the other boy's forehead.

_In three, two, one..._

“What's that?” Fred asked suddenly, pointing to Harry's scar.

“Blimey.” added George. “Are you -?”

“He is. Aren't you?”

Neville looked on, completely lost.

“What are you taking about?” he asked.

“If he's Harry _Potter_.” The twins chorused. Neville's eyes widened, and Harry looked discomfited at all the attention. Hardly surprising, Mal thought.

“That would be me.” admitted Harry. Blushing as three of the inhabitants of the compartment gawped at him. To his relief, their mother called them away. Mal couldn't blame Harry for the sheer look of relief on his face.

“So you're really Harry Potter?” Neville asked, timidly. Harry gave him a weary grin.

“Yup. S'pose you want to see the scar?” he asked, a touch cynically in Mal's opinion, but Neville shook his head.

“Not if you don't want to.”

Harry looked hugely grateful at this, and then frowned, as he realised the third occupant of the compartment had been oddly quiet.

“You didn't seem very surprised.” Harry commented, and Mal snorted.

“It wasn't exactly rocket science.” he said, smiling at Harry's confused look. “Wizarding Britain's not exactly huge, I knew we're the same age, so there can't be that many Harrys.” he paused, noting the embarrassed look on Harry's face. “And Hagrid told Tonks, who told me.” he admitted, ducking his head.

“Your cousin, right?”

“Yep. She's great – couldn't get her to help me smuggle a broom in though.” Mal pulled a face, and Harry laughed at the reference to their previous conversation.

“Wait, you two know each other?” Neville interjected, and Mal glanced at his friend affectionately.

“Ah, yes, I did sort of forget to mention that didn't I? Sorry Nev.” he gestured towards Neville. “Harry Potter, this is Neville Longbottom. Neville, Harry.” Neville rolled his eyes.

“I got that bit, thanks.”

Mal raised his eyebrows. Neville was finally growing a bit of a backbone. As Harry asked Neville a little more about himself, Mal glanced out of the window. He snickered as he overheard the twins promise to send Ginny a toilet seat, then became hugely glad of Neville as he heard the twins tell Mrs Weasley about Harry. Honestly, did they really think Harry would tell them if he could remember You-Know-Who? He didn't exactly come across as the sort of person to love fame. It was a good thing Mrs Weasley set them straight otherwise they might find themselves... inconvenienced. Mal still needed to get them back for the last prank they played on him anyway.

A whistle sounded, and a moment later, the train began to move. Mrs Weasley and Ginny were still on the platform, Ginny running to try and keep up with the train. Houses flashed past the window, and Mal felt a mix of excitement and a sorrow. He didn't know exactly what was awaiting him, but it wouldn't be the same as what he'd left behind.

The door slid open again, and this time Ron came in, with a decidedly disgruntled look on his face.

“What's up with _you_?” Mal asked amused. Ron grimaced.

“Lee Jordan's got a _tarantula._ And Fred and George were all 'come and share a compartment with us, Ronniekins'. Blech.”

Mal and Neville gave Ron a sympathetic look. They were both well aware of Ron's arachnophobia – on occasion Mal had himself used it for his own amusement.

“Come in then, don't just malinger in the doorway like a lemon.” Mal said, and Harry laughed. Ron just raised his eyebrows and said:

“You've been spending too much time with Tonks. And I don't think that's what malingering means, Mal.” Ron sat down opposite Harry, and gave the other boy and inquisitive stare.

“Who're you then?” he asked good-naturedly, and Mal rolled his eyes. Then smirked at what he knew was to come.

“I'm Harry. Harry Potter.”

Ron gaped, as Mal knew he would. He asked Harry to see his scar, and Harry obliged.

“Did I look like that when you told me?” Neville wondered. Mal held his finger and thump up, close together, and Neville blushed

“Anyway...now your gawping is over Weasley, how about normal people conversation?” Mal suggested, and Ron blushed.

“Well, I’m sorry for having a _normal_ reaction to somebody famous. No offence Harry.”

“None taken?” Harry said uncertainly. “And I think Mal doesn't count.” he added, growing in confidence. “He found out after meeting me. So he could be an idiot on his own terms, and not just because of me.”

“Hey!” Mal said, his jaw dropping before he gave an grudging grin. He might actually have someone worth bantering with. Ron was fun, but he tripped himself up too much to be challenge. The twins were two on one, and being sarcastic around Neville was mean, like torturing a kitten. “Touché Potter.”

“So are all your families magic then?” Harry asked, curiously. Mal became a little awkward, and he could see that Neville had closed off. For once, Ron managed to be tactful enough to step in.

“Yeah. Well, we've got a second cousin who's an accountant, but no one ever really talks about him.”

“You must know loads of magic.” Harry said, enviously, and Mal snorted.

“I wish – we're not supposed to do magic outside of school.” He added, seeing Harry's inquisitive look. “Mind you, we'd probably blow something up, practising on our own. I heard you live with Muggles, anyway – what're they like?” Mal asked. Time to see if his suspicions were right.

“Horrible. Well, not all of them. My aunt uncle and cousin, are though. Wish my cousin was as cool as yours sounds.”

Mal smiled at the compliment, although it was a little forced. Sometimes, he hated being right.

“Tonks is wicked!” Ron told Harry. “Better having just a cousin, instead of _five_ brothers. I’m the sixth in our family to go to Hogwarts. Plus Bill and Charlie have already left, and they were Head Boy and Quidditch captain. And I never get anything new. At least Mal's just got Tonks to live up to -”

“Which shouldn’t be hard. Although imitating Professors to break curfew might have to wait a couple of years.” Mal interrupted, cheerily ignoring the rude gesture Ron threw at him. Harry looked at him in amazement.

“You can do that?” he asked, impressed.

“I wouldn't recommend it. Tonks has a bit of an advantage – she's a Metamorphmagus – which means she was born with the ability to change her appearance at will.”

“Cool!” Harry breathed.

“Until she uses it to trick you into thinking she's Aunt Drom, and forces you to tidy her room for stealing her chocolate.” Mal said ruefully, and Ron and Neville chuckled.  
“I'd forgotten that. Your aunt was furious though wasn't she?” Ron asked and Mal gave a wicked grin.

“Just a bit. Uncle Ted just thought it was funny, the git.” Mal scowled.

“So you live with your aunt and uncle too?” Harry asked. Mal nodded, eyes wistful.

“My parent's were attacked by You-Know-Who, when I was a baby. Neither of them lived to tell about it.” he said solemnly, before brightening again. “Still, I was lucky! No offence Harry but your relatives sound awful.”

“They are. They used to -” Harry was interrupted, as Neville gave a dismal howl.

“I've lost Trevor!” he moaned. Ron and Mal gave him exasperated looks.

“Trevor?” Harry asked, lost.

“My toad! He was a present form my uncle Algie, for the first time I did accidental magic. I can't lose him, Gran'll be furious.”

“Calm down Neville. We'll find him.” Ron said, placating.

“He's a toad, he can't have hopped far.” Mal added sliding the door open.

They didn't get far, before they came across a bushy haired girl, sitting in the corridor, reading. From the lack of crest on her robes, Mal realised she was a first year.

“Neville's lost a toad. Want to help us look?” he asked her. After all, if she was out here, she probably hadn't exactly made friend. Judging from the eagerness with which she jumped up, Mal was right.

“Oh, yes of course! I’d be quite happy to help. Perhaps if I go with Neville, was it, and you go with your friends to opposite ends of the train and meet in the middle?” this was all said incredibly quickly, and Mal blinked.

“Okay?” he did feel slightly guilty about pawning her off onto Neville, especially after she latched onto him and started rattling out sentences at the speed of the train they were on. Then he remembered that otherwise, she'd be with him, and his resolve stiffened. Collecting Harry and Ron, they moved through the train pausing at each compartment, repeating the same routine each time. Until they reached a compartment that contained a group that was a mix of Slytherin, Ravenclaw and first year students. One of the first years a stringy boy Mal thought looked vaguely familiar spoke up before they could start their usual spiel.

“Well well well,” he drawled. “If it isn't Draco Malfoy, hanging out with a blood traitor.”

 _Nott._ That was his name. Firmly remembering the lessons Aunt Andromeda had given him, he switched firmly into, 'dealing with arrogant traditionalist' mode.

“Hello Nott. Have you seen a toad? We're looking for one. Neville Longbottom's lost his.”

He could feel Harry giving him a wary look, and he forced himself to stay calm, especially after Nott gave him the sort of look you'd expect to give to something nasty on the bottom of a shoe.

“Didn't you hear me, Malfoy? I said, why are you hanging out with a blood traitor?” the nasal whine grated, and Mal's fingers twitched.

 _I am really really sorry Harry, for what I’m about to do_.

“Because I wouldn't have thought that even you would call Harry Potter a blood-traitor, Nott.” he said, and allowed the tiniest smirk through the mask. Mainly because Nott looked like he'd just been slapped with a wet fish. He pulled himself together depressingly quickly though, and the rest of the compartment suddenly had a very hungry air.

_We need to get out of here. Preferably without alienating them._

“Yes, Harry Potter. Or did you mean Weasley, here? Personally, I don't see how my associates effect you Nott. Surely my 'lowering myself' just makes you look better in that respect?”

_And you need all the help you can get._

Nott looked sceptical, before sniffing.

“You can associate with whomever you please Malfoy. But Harry, I can call you Harry, I would think twice about who you _associate_ with. Wouldn't want to see you mixing with the wrong sort, would we?” Nott attempt at friendliness was so fake that Ron snorted and Mal elbowed him in the ribs.

“I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks.” Harry said, coolly, before they slammed the compartment shut. Running out of earshot, they collapsed in hysterical laughter.

“Who _were_ they?” Harry asked.

“Purebloods.” Ron said curtly, and Mal elbowed him again, ignoring his grunt of complaint.

“ _We're_ purebloods, Ron. They're traditionalists.”

“We're _blood-traitors_. As if not hating a group of people means you're a traitor to magic.” Ron scoffed. Harry was looking at them, a mixture of hurt and bewilderment, and Mal realised what he must be thinking.

_It must be awful to think you've escaped an awful place to a much better one, and then find out ours is a messed up..._

“Ignore them Harry. And Ron, but that's easy.”

“ _Draco..._ ” Mal smirked at Ron's growl. The three of them sat quietly for a moment, before realising they were in the middle of a corridor, and they did actually have a task to do.

“This is stupid,” Mal realised. “Why don't we just ask a prefect? Ron, go ask Percy.”

“What did your last slave die of?” Ron grumbled and Mal gave him a beatific look.

“I seem to remember pushing him off a moving train when he wouldn't go ask his brother for help.”

Ron rolled his eyes, but went up to the Prefect's compartment, while Harry and Mal returned to theirs. They were quiet for a little while, watching fields and trees flick past, when Ron and Neville, who was clutching Trevor, came in. They were followed closely by the bushy haired girl.

“Yes?” Mal asked, dryly.

“I beg your pardon?” asked the girl, indignantly.

“Can we...help you?”

“Well! I assumed because I helped you find your toad I could sit with you.”

The boys held a silent conference, before coming to an agreement.

“Fine. Just, read, or whatever.” Mal told her, before raising an eyebrow. No one should be that happy at being told they could sit somewhere on sufferance. The boys struck up a conversation, and it returned to magic, after Neville asked Mal what he'd done with the book Michael had got him for his birthday. Ron then shared the spell Fred and George had given him the day before, but they were disappointed when it had absolutely no effect on Scabbers. In the corner, the girl tutted.

“What.” Ron asked irritably.

“Are you sure that's a real spell? Well, it's not very good, is it? I’ve tried a few simple spells for practice and they've all worked for me. Nobody in my family's magic at all, it was such a surprise when I got my letter, but I was ever so pleased of course, I mean, it's the very best school of witchcraft there is, I’ve heard – I’ve learnt all our set books off by heart, of course, I just hope it will be enough – I’m Hermione Granger by the way, who are you? I mean Neville already introduced himself, he's not rude like some people.”

The boys looked at each other in stunned disbelief.

“Ron Weasley.” Ron muttered shaking his head.

“Mal.” said, Mal, stonily. Hermione looked at him, unimpressed.

“That's not exactly a _proper_ name, is it?”

“ _Draco Malfoy_.” he enunciated, glaring at the girl. Why did she care anyway? And he had been going to be _nice_ to her. Now she was looking expectantly at Harry.

“Oh. Harry Potter.”

“Are you really?” said Hermione. “I know all about you of course, I got a few extra books for background reading, and you're in _Modern Magical History_ and _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ and _Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century._ I think _you_ were in there too, somewhere. As a footnote.” she directed this last bit at Mal, who pulled a face. Harry on the other Hand, looked dazed.

“Am I?”

“Goodness, didn't you know? I’d have found out everything I could if it was me.” said Hermione. “Do any of you know what house you'll be in? I’ve been asking around, and Gryffindor sounds by far the best. I hear Dumbledore himself was a Gryffindor.”

Mal made an abortive movement, and Ron and Neville eyed him warily. Mal could get _insistent_ about houses.

“That book you told me about was interesting, Mal.” Harry said, only half answering Hermione, Mal noticed with a selfish glee. “I didn't really get why there's so much rivalry between the Houses, when their ideas are usually so different. Surely they shouldn't clash _that_ much.”

Hermione was showing lively interest in Harry's point.

“Oh you mean like how Slytherin's dark Harry-” was as far as she got before Mal lunged across the compartment. Luckily, Ron and Neville held him back before he could actually touch Hermione, although he had succeeded in terrifying her.

“That's _so_ typical of Muggle-Borns. They come in, and of _course_ they listen to the first thing they hear, they never bother to actually find out from _Slytherins_ themselves!” Mal ranted 'Ooh Slytherin are all dark' 'there wasn't a witch or wizard who was in Slytherin who didn't go dark' my Aunt Andromeda is one of the bravest, kindest people I’ll ever meet and she was in Slytherin. 'Ooh Gryffindor is the best House!' well they never tell anyone about the witches or wizards that went dark in Gryffindor! Or the fact that _Merlin_ was a Slytherin! And you never hear about brave Hufflepuffs, like Tonks who's an _Auror_ which is one of the hardest and _bravest_ things you can be! The only reason you don't is that unlike Gryffindor, Hufflepuffs aren't show-offs and prats!” Mal took a huge, shuddering breath as he finished his tirade, and slumped back down on the seat. Across from him, Hermione's eyes started to well up.

“You are horrid!” she managed to get out, before bursting into tears.

“Oh Merlin's _pants_!” Mal swore. “Look, I’m sorry, I didn't mean to have a go at you.”

“We could have told you Mal gets touchy about that stuff, if you'd thought before speaking.” Ron told her, and Mal gave a bitter laugh at the irony. Hermione, was at least, pulling herself together, although next to her, Harry still looked pale.

“So...Slytherin have a bad reputation. But why?” Harry asked, and Mal gave an inward sigh of relief.

 _That was bloody stupid, exploding like that. But what with all the excitement, and no sleep, I should have probably expected it._ He only had time to note that the world was going fuzzy at the edges before he drifted off.

 

Harry looked at Mal, expecting an answer, before raising his eyebrows. Ron looked at the blond haired boy, and gave a laugh of disbelief.

“Has he just _fallen_ asleep?” Ron gave Mal a poke in the ribs, before laughing again. “He has...idiot.”

“Don't wake him up Ron.” Neville said imploringly. “You know what he's like.”

After a little bickering, the four of them returning to their conversation about the houses. Ron admitted to Harry that if it weren't for knowing Mrs Tonks, he'd probably still think all Slytherins were evil, and that he was still a little uncomfortable knowing it was one Mal's houses of choice. At around half twelve, a lady came around with a trolley, and Ron and Neville introduced Harry to the wonderful world of wizarding sweets. After Hermione haughtily informed them that her parents were dentists, leaving Harry to explain to Neville and Ron what that meant, she returned to her book. Although she did seem to be more engrossed in thought than her book. Harry found out a little more about his new friends' families, Ron's brother in Romania, the fact that Neville lived with his grandmother, and the fact (that Harry was under no circumstances to share,) that Mal's parents had been followers of You-Know-Who, and that they had sacrificed themselves to save Mal. And that they had also been Slytherins, which Harry supposed explained why Mal was so touchy about the house situation. It had certainly given Harry a lot to think about.

As it began to grow dark, Hermione slipped out of the compartment, returning a few moments later to inform them they were nearly there. Harry began to change into his robes as Ron shook Mal awake.

“Rise and Shine Malfoy.” a wicked grin crossed his face. “Mal...you're drooling!” he sang, and Mal shot awake, cracking his head on the lid of Harry's trunk. Rubbing his head with an air of injured pride, he shot a scornful glare at Ron.

“I don't _drool_ Weasley.”

“Sure you don't”

They carried on bickering as they got changed, and Harry glanced at Neville, the boy's round face a look of practised suffering.

“Are they always like this?” Harry asked.

“Worse, sometimes.” Neville replied, exasperation clear in his voice. Harry winced.

As the train stopped, they pushed their way into the corridor and off the train, where the platform was a solid mass of people. Then a yellow light came bobbing out of the darkness, and Harry felt a rush of relief as he saw Hagrid, who was gathering the first years. A short boat ride (in which they managed to separate themselves from Hermione) and their first look at the castle later, they arrived in the grounds of Hogwarts Castle, where a beam of moonlight shone upon its great oak front door.

“Everybody still here?”

with no cries of dissent, Hagrid raised a gigantic fist, and knocked three times on the door.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So.. Mal went a little crazy there, yeah...  
> Even so, I hoped you liked my interpretaiton of the characters, and feedback is always very welcome :)  
> Next chapter -the Sorting :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally the Sorting...with some unexpected surprises.

The door swung open at once. A tall, black-haired witch in emerald-green robes stood there. Judging by the stern look on her face, and Tonks' vivid description, this was Professor McGonagall. 

_ Tonks was right – she really doesn't look like someone to cross. _

Hagrid handed them over to her, and she led them in the Entrance Hall. Mal could feel his grin widening as he took in its splendour – the stories of the Hall, with it's marble staircases – and of course the jewel filled hourglasses belonging to each house, placed in comparison to the real thing. Around him, he could hear the other first years' gasps of awe. 

Professor McGonagall led them into an ante-chamber of the Great Hall, or at least that's what Mal assumed it was, in part from family descriptions, and partly because of the buzz of people coming from the other side of the door. Once inside, the huddled together – probably closer than they otherwise would. Most of them peered round nervously, although, some – like Nott, attempted a look of boredom.

_ And it would work, if his hands weren't shaking... _ Mal noted with amusement.

Professor McGonagall gave her welcome speech – carefully avoiding mentions of her own house, and or any of the biases that might of formed between the houses. Mal's respect for her grew, knowing from Tonks that McGonagall was fiercely loyal to her own house where it mattered. Somehow, he doubted that Professor Snape would be so generous.

_ Still, that's why she's the Deputy Head, isn't it? _ He mused.

As Professor McGonagall, the first-years began to fidget – some, like Harry trying to flatten his hair, after her suggestion that they smarten themselves up, others just looking faintly nauseous.

“How exactly do they sort us into houses?” Harry asked, nervously.

“Some sort of test, I think. Fred said it hurts a lot, but I think he was joking.”

“Fred also turned your teddy bear into a spider when we were three...I don't know that at believe anything he says.” Mal pointed out, and both Ron and Harry's faces brightened. Still for all he was outwardly calm, he felt as nervous as Ron and Harry looked. It didn't help that Hermione Granger was practically hissing a list of spells she'd memorised in his ear, and fretting that they would be enough. 

_ You're lucky _ . Mal told himself in attempt to quell his nerves.  _Wherever I go, my family'll be happy. They might be_ surprised  _if I end up in Gryffindor or something, but they'll be happy for me, as long as I am. Not like Ron. And everyone expects Harry to be like his parents._ A smirk snuck over Mal's face as he imagined the reactions that the rest of the school would have if 'the Boy-Who-Lived' ended up in Slytherin. He snorted.

_ Never going to happen. _

He was abruptly jolted from his contemplation by a scream that came from at least three people. Mal swore, whilst beside him Harry jumped about a foot in the air. 

“What the-?”

Mal turned and he could see the reason for panic – about twenty ghost had just popped through the wall, talking to each other. Mal's rapidly hammering heartbeat slowed down – especially as one of the ghosts 'noticed' the first years.

_ Like they really didn't notice it was the start of term... _ Mal thought sarcastically. Fortunately Professor McGonagall returned before this theory, shooing the ghosts and herding the first years into the Great Hall. Which was...

_ Wow. _ Just like the rest of Hogwarts, stories didn't do it justice. The ceiling, enchanted to look like the night sky made the moving Star Map Mal had at home look completely pathetic in comparison. It was hard to believe that it was only an illusion. But the ceiling itself vied for attention with the candles, floating above the tables, and the glittering golden goblets and plates. And the legion of staring eyes that were already in place at the House tables. 

Professor McGonagall silently placed a four-legged stool at the front of the hall, below the teacher's table, upon which she placed an extremely bedraggled looking hat. 

_ What on earth? _ Mal wondered, before the hat burst into song.

 

As the Hat finished its song, explaining the qualities of the houses, the hall gave a huge round of applause. Next to her, Hermione heard the red headed boy from the train, Ron, whispering to his friends; 'I’ll kill Fred' (whoever Fred was) he kept going on about how we had to wrestle a troll!'. Hermione smiled unwillingly before frowning. Trying a hat on was all very well, but what if it decided she wasn't good enough? She really didn't want to be seen as stupid – and Mum and Dad hadn't really wanted her to go to Hogwarts, so she really didn't want to know what they'd say then. It was part of the reason she worked so hard over the summer. She had to admit, she didn't exactly feel any of the qualities the hat had mentioned at the moment. Most of the Sorting went fairly smoothly, each person going up being Sorted and then moving to their new house table, with only a few delays, like Finnegan, Seamus. Then it got to a heavyset, boy Goyle, Gregory – which Hermione realised with a jolt, meant she was next. It sat on his head for well over a minute, and it looked as if his lips were moving. Maybe that hat was broken and they were going to stop the Sorting! Hermione panicked, before the hat  _eventually_ called out Hufflepuff!

There was a low whistle, from that blond boy with stupid name – the one who'd nearly made her cry on the train.

“Was not expecting that...Good on him.” he murmured.

“Why?” Harry asked. Hermione tried desperately not to listen, but she hating not knowing things.

“He's one of the traditionalist people we told you about. Pretty sure everyone was expecting him to go to Slytherin. If only because they're the only house that wouldn't be intimidated by him.”

“But I thought Gryffindor was the brave house?”

“There's a difference between bravery and intimidation-”

“ _Granger, Hermione.”_ Professor McGonagall's voice was irritated, and Hermione felt her face growing hot as she hurried forward. She'd been called and she hadn't heard, everyone was looking at her and -

“Well, what have we here?” a small voice said in her ear. Hermione squeaked, looking round before she heard a chuckle, “Relax dearie, just doing my job...”

Oh. It was the Sorting Hat.

“Oh, now _this_ is interesting. You're conflicted...you thought Gryffindor was the best house, where you wanted to be, but now you're not so sure?”

Hermione started – if that stupid boy on the train. But it wasn't just  _Mal_ or whatever he called himself had said, she realised, it was the conversation the others had had whilst he had been asleep.

“And now you see your dilemma.” The Sorting Hat said, sounding amused. “You wanted to go to Gryffindor, because it was the best, but are you so sure it's the best house for _you_? With a keen, enquiring mind like yours dearie, Gryffindor would frustrate you endlessly.” Hermione wavered.

_ Where _ _would you put me then?_ She thought her 'voice' sounding lost. She thought she felt the hat smile, before opening its brim again.

“For you? Best place, no doubt about it, is RAVENCLAW! _”_

Hermione stood up to polite applause, before staggering over to join her new house mates at the Ravenclaw table.

_ A ready mind, wit, and learning. That feels... _ right _._

 

 

Next to Mal, Ron gave a sigh of relief, as Hermione was sorted into Ravenclaw. He snorted, before elbowing him in the ribs again.

“Don't be mean.” Mal told Ron, who scoffed.

“Oh come _on_ , as if you would want her in your house.” 

Mal raised his eyebrows, grinning wickedly.

“Still could be Ron...I'll tell her you said that, if I am.”

Ron blanched, and took an involuntary step back, before his eyes narrowed.

“You wouldn't - you wouldn't be Ravenclaw acting like that anyway.” he pointed out and Mal shrugged, eyes widening, as if to say, 'who knows?'

_ Ah Ron. So easy to wind up. I’ll miss being able to do that all the time. _

He would just have to make sure to be extra 'helpful' when they saw each other in class, if they did in fact share any. 

“Longbottom, Neville.” Professor McGonagall called, and Mal's nerves returned, this time on behalf of his friend. Both he and Ron gave the clumsier boy a pack on the back, and wished him luck before he left them. He wasn't sat on the stool for nearly as long as Goyle, Hermione or Seamus Finnegan, but Neville's would definitely be a memorable sorting. When the hat finally called out 'GRYFFINDOR' he ran to the table still wearing the hat and he had to jog back amid gales of laughter to give it to 'MacDougal Morag, who joined him in Gryffindor.

And then it was Mal's turn. All of a sudden his mouth felt very dry. He managed to walk up to the hat with a false confidence, despite the flurry of whispers that followed him. He braced himself as the Hat dropped onto his head.

“Interesting.” the hat said. “ _very interesting_. Let's see – my you're definitely tenacious, and loyal, hmm but with some clear ambitions.” the hat paused for a long while You want to prove yourself for your family, do you? Quite a keen mind too – but I think you're too firmly grounded for Ravenclaw. Yes this is most difficult. Your loyalty and sense of justice would mark you out a Hufflepuff, but no, the best place for you to achieve your ambitions is SLYTHERIN!”

Mal let the breath he didn't realise he'd been holding escape with a whoosh. Those already at the Slytherin table, a few of whom he knew vaguely, were looking at him with interest.

 

Harry wasn't sure what to make of the look on Mal's face as he joined the rest of the Slytherins. It was sort of a mixture of relief, jubilation and disappointment, although he had no idea how that was even possible. He looked quite at home though – unlike Hermione at the Ravenclaw table, who despite her best attempts to start a conversation, was being ignored. There weren't many people left now, 'Moon' Gryffindor, 'Nott'...'Parkinson' – Slytherin... then a pair of twin girls, Patil and Patil, who went 

to Ravenclaw and Gryffindor respectively, then 'Perks, Sally-Anne' and then, at last-

“Potter, Harry.”

As Harry walked forward, whispers broke out across the hall again, far louder than they had been for either Mal or Goyle. 

“Potter, did she say?”

“ _The_ Harry Potter?”

He kept his eyes firmly glued to the floor, so he missed the encouraging look Mal gave him. Ears burning, the last thing he saw before the hat dropped over his eyes was almost everyone in the hall craning to get a good look at him.

“Hmm,” a little voice said. “Difficult. Very Difficult. Plenty of courage I see. Not a bad mind either. There's talent, oh my goodness, yes – and a nice thirst to prove yourself...So where shall I put you?”

Harry gripped the edge of the stool. How was he supposed to know? Wasn't that the the hat's job? The hat chuckled. 

“Well, it's all here in your head. Slytherin can help you on the way to greatness – and that's what you need isn't it, 'Boy-Who-Lived'?” 

Harry started, surprised that the hat knew who he was.

“Don't look so surprised boy – I sorted the one that gave you that scar – and I remember it all to well. Yes it's clear to me now. SLYTHERIN!”

The silence was so absolute that Harry could hear the blood rushing through his head. Head take two steps before the whispering started again and he could _feel_ himself going crimson. Then someone at the Slytherin table started clapping – Mal, of course it was, Harry could almost hug him! The rest of the Slytherin table joined in, and before he was even halfway across the room, the thunderous applause of the Slytherin's drowned out any shocked whispers. He sat down next to Mal, who patted him on the back, knees shaking slightly. Harry still felt slightly dazed, but he came back to himself to note some of the reactions in the room. The majority of Slytherin looked curious although one boy looked disproportionately frustrated – until Harry saw the flash of money changing hands under the table. Next to him Mal was grinning, whilst Hermione and Neville just looked shocked, where Ron was wary and his twin brothers were looking at him with a hungry interest that made Harry gulp uneasily.

“Welcome to Slytherin Harry” Mal said, and Harry gave a shaky laugh.

It wasn't what he'd been expecting, but at least he _had a house_!.

 

To say that the Sorting Harry Potter in Slytherin wasn't something Mal had been expecting was an understatement.

_ I did sort of jinx it though _ , he thought ruefully. It would be interesting to see what the others thought of it, and he almost involuntarily glanced up at the teacher's table.  _Well that's interesting..._ he thought. Professor Dumbledore looked almost disappointed – no that couldn't be right, while a teacher in a purple turban seemed to be way too happy about Harry's Sorting, in Mal's view. Professor Snape on the other hand...Mal laughed quietly. Professor Snape looked as if he didn't know whether to laugh, or cry – at least Mal was pretty sure it was Snape: 'big nose, black greasy hair, looks like a bat' had been Tonks' description, and he didn't see anyone else that fitted it around here. 

_ I wonder what ruffled his feathers? _ Mal pondered, before returning his attention back to the Sorting. 

It had resumed its usual pace after the awkwardness following Harry's sorting, and was going through at quite a pace – although it could just be that the wait was marginally less agonising now. Ron was called up, which was good as that meant there were only a few people left, and Mal was getting hungry. 

It came as no surprise when he joined his brothers at the Gryffindor table, and Mal was sure that Fred and George's catcalls were almost as loud as the rest of their house's applause put together. Finally, Zabini, Blaise joined them at the Slytherin table, and they were ready to start the feast. 

Mal groaned good-naturedly as he saw Dumbledore get to his feet and Harry prodded him – startling Mal, as he hadn't thought Harry would be willing to join in with the casual physical abuse that he and Ron used to show affection.

“What?” Mal whispered crossly.

“Don't be rude!” Harry said, mock piously and Mal grimaced.

“I'm _hungry_!” he hissed, but nevertheless returned his attention to the man in the ornate robes at the front of the Hall.

“Welcome!” he beamed “Welcome to another new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few word, and here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!”

There were a few sniggers as he sat down, but everyone clapped and cheered. Judging by the stunned look on Harry's face, he was as bemused as Mal was.

“Is he a bit mad?” Harry asked uncertainly.

“Just a bit – but don't let that fool you – he's still one of the sharpest minds out there you'd do well to keep an eye on him” a pretty dark haired girl with a badge by the snake on her robes said. “I'm Gemma Farley by the way, prefect for Slytherin house.”

Harry nodded, and Mal filed that bit of information away for further use, because here was  _food_ . And what food it was.

Mal made a blissful noise as he bit into a chicken leg and the girl across from him raised her eyebrows. 

“Don't they feed you at home, Malfoy?” she asked snidely. She had a face a bit like a pugs, Mal thought a little cruelly.

“It's Mal, actually.” he said, raising his voice subtly, so he wouldn't have to repeat himself. “And yes they do, my aunt's cooking is great actually, but food is always better when it's flavoured with hunger, don't you think? What was your name again?” 

She looked vaguely affronted by the slight insult.

“Pansy Parkinson. Which you'd know if your aunt wasn't married to a mudblood.”

Everyone else at the table suddenly took on a very alert tone. Mal frowned pensively, although he really wished that this whole stupid posturing thing didn't have to happen right _now_. 

_ And that would have been one reason why it would have been nicer in Hufflepuff. No power plays. _

“Really Pansy?” he asked sardonically. “You're being that obvious? Besides, I don't see why the blood-status of my relatives is so important. It's not as if everyone in Slytherin is a pureblood, is it?”

A few of the older students shifted, as well as a blonde girl who'd been sorted a little before Ron.

“Well-” she started.

“It's physically impossible isn't it?” The blonde girl added, a faint hint of the north in her accent. “Otherwise there'd be no wizarding world left. I’m Sophie Roper, since you didn't ask.” she added. Pansy gaped, and there was a silent sense of approval in the air. Harry Mal noted, had stayed very quiet throughout the exchange, and was watching everyone carefully.

“She has a point, Pansy.” Blaise Zabini, the dark skinned boy who'd been sorted last added. “And Mal, “ he smiled “does too. Besides, didn't anyone ever tell you it's rude to bring up blood-status at the dinner table?”

Pansy scowled and Mal shot Blaise a grateful look. He nodded slowly, and with that the tension eased. Everyone went back to eating, and normal conversations – the first years introducing themselves, and talking about their first incidents of accidental magic.

“How did you do that?” Harry asked Mal quietly.

“Do what?” Mal asked, whilst wondering why on earth there were mint humbugs on the table.

“Be all formal like that. You did it on the train too, with Nott.” Harry said, giving Mal a look that said he clearly wasn't buying Mal's innocent act. 

“Training.” Mal admitted, before continuing just as quietly as Harry. My aunt grew up in that sort of environment, and she really didn't want me or Tonks ending up in _situations,_ we wouldn't prepared for. So she's been giving us lessons since we were old enough to understand. Not the whole muggle-borns are scum rubbish that _some_ people believe” he shot a poisonous glare at Nott and Pansy, who were currently deep in conversation, probably about Mal's rudeness. “But the whole – how they expect you to act, what's proper and what's not,” his mouth quirked up in a half-smile. “What fork to use for what course stuff.”

Harry's eyes widened.

“Sounds scary.” he said.

Mal cocked his head as if admitting the point, before turning his attention back to his food. This was really really good.

_ I’ll have to go down to the kitchens to compliment the cooks. And snaffle a few éclairs or something while I’m down there, maybe. _

The rest of the meal passed in somewhat of a blur. There was a disturbing moment after the Bloody Baron made an appearance, right next to Mal, but other than that it was surprisingly fun – especially since most people were ignoring Pansy and Nott. Harry seemed to get a lot of attention though – not completely friendly, but all of it curious. 

After people finally seemed to have had their fill, the food vanished – which was probably a good thing, as Mal thought he had possibly eaten his own weight in food. Dumbledore stood up, and announced his the usual warnings – although Mal missed the last one, something about an out of bounds area as his eyelids grew heavier by the moment.

He was roused suddenly by a deafening rendition of the school song.

_ And whoever thinks it's a good idea to get over 200 people singing the same song to conflicting tunes needs their heads checking... _ Mal winced as the noted clashed painfully. Fortunately it was over when the Weasley twins finished their funeral dirge – and it  _would_ be Fred and George, of course. 

Gemma the prefect stood up as soon as they were finished, and ushered the first years out of the Hall, before they had a chance to speak to the other houses.

_ Or start a fight with them. _

As she guided them down to the dungeons she gave a little spiel, which Mal had the sneaking suspicion she'd practised.

“Well, I’m very pleased to welcome you to Slytherin house - you might have heard rumours about us – that we’re all into the Dark Arts, and will only talk to you if your great-grandfather was a famous wizard, and rubbish like that. Well, you don’t want to believe everything you hear from competing houses. I’m not denying that we’ve produced our share of Dark wizards, but so have the other three houses – they just don’t like admitting it.” she smirked as they rounded yet another corner, where they found themselves confronted with a featureless wall. Speaking the password, Gemma stepped through the opening it had created and into the common room.

It was cool, in a spooky way, and despite the underwater effect of the windows, it was actually quite cosy. If a little more silver and green than Mal was used to.

“ The password to the common room changes every fortnight. Keep an eye on the noticeboard. Never bring anyone from another house into our common room or tell them our password. No outsider has entered it for more than seven centuries.” Gemma looked rather intimidating as she said this, and beside Mal, Harry gulped. “Well I think that's all for now – I’ll let you get to your dormitories – boys on the right, girls on the left. I’ll be more than happy to answer any questions tomorrow, as long as I’m not busy, OK?”

There was a quiet murmur of assent, before the group split into two.

Their things were waiting for them in the dormitory, trunks propped open at the feet of silver and green hung four poster beds. Thankfully, Mal noted, Blaise was in the middle, separating Mal and Harry from Nott and Vincent Crabbe, the other Slytherin boy.

Exhausted again, Mal changed quickly, before flopping into bed.

“Night Harry.” Was all he managed to mutter before the lead in his eyelids proved too heavy, and he wasn't even sure he heard Harry answer before he was lost in blissful sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I haven't reread this, so apologies for any typos etc. And I'm sure some of you are going to be unhappy with my decisions, so feel free to yell at me if you don't agree. But preferably a well reasoned complaint so I can explain my reasoning rather than flames, thanks.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Sorting has further reaching ramifications than previously expected

The whispering started the next day, rumours and gossip shadowing them wherever they went.

“The Boy-Who-Lived, a Slytherin?”

“Did you see him? There next to the really blond kid?”

“Isn't that the Malfoy kid? Do you think his dad really tried to kill You-Know-Who?”

“Never mind _that,_ Potter actually did! Did you see his scar?”

Mal wasn't sure what was worse, that people were staring at them because Harry was the Boy-Who-Lived, or because the Boy-Who-Lived was a Slytherin. It wasn't as bad as it could have been though, as a few of their fellow first-years, mainly Blaise Zabini and Sophie Roper formed a sort of honour guard around Harry, perhaps prompted by Prefect Farley's speech, and so protected him from the worst of the stares.

Then there was Ron.

The first morning after the sorting, they had gone up for breakfast early, excited for their first proper day at Hogwarts. There weren’t many people there yet, a few at Ravenclaw's table, including one distinctively bushy haired brunette. But it was the red head and sandy haired boy at the Gryffindor table that made Mal and Harry grin.

“Want to go say hi to Ron and Neville?” Mal asked. Harry looked around nervously. The Slytherin table was still mostly deserted.

“Yeah, sure, but...won't we get in trouble? No one seemed to be talking to anyone outside their own house last night.” Harry pointed out, and Mal rolled his eyes.

“Come on Harry, they're not going to take points for _talking_. Besides, Dumbledore's supposed to be all about House unity, right? We'll probably get _rewarded_.”

But there'd barely taken two steps before they each felt a hand on their shoulder.

“Going to talk to Ron?”

“I wouldn't recommend it”

Mal and Harry turned to see the Weasley twins.

“What do you know?” asked Mal, suspiciously. The twins immediately looked shifty, before darting between the two Slytherins and the Gryffindor table.

“He was being a bit...touchy last night.”About your Sortings, specifically.” Admitted George 

“Course, you know ickle Ronniekins, more earwax than brains -” added Fred

“Yeah, we don't mind you being in Slytherin.”

“It gives us some inside men, for future...opportunities.” Fred grinned wolfishly, as Mal crossed his arms, unimpressed.

“We are not helping you prank our own house.” said Mal, flatly. George looked put out, but Fred merely looked speculative.

“Are you sure? We could provide remuneration of a sort. What say you, Harry?”

“Um, Harry?” George added when he didn't respond. 

The dark haired boy was staring at the Gryffindor table, a lost look on his face.

“I thought he was my friend.” Harry said, quietly. Far too quietly for Ron to hear, but he looked up nevertheless, as if he'd somehow known he was being talked about. As he made eye contact with Harry, he flushed crimson, and hastily turned away, hurriedly engaging Neville in conversation.

“Idiot.” said Fred scornfully.

“Yeah don't worry about our stupid brother, Harry, we'll hex him for you, if you want.” George suggested, grin far too eager.

“No, don't. Wouldn't want him to think his stupid prejudice is _right_ or anything.” Harry said bitterly.“C'mon Mal. Lets go eat with people who don't automatically assume having a snake on your robes makes you evil.” he stormed off, leaving a slightly bemused Mal and Weasley twins in his wake.

“What was that all about?” Fred asked, raising his eyebrows. Mal wasn't sure, but he had an inkling. Some of the things he'd said about his relatives as they'd been getting ready, that if people made friends with Harry, they were just as quickly dissuaded by his bully of a cousin. Ron's reaction was obviously bringing bad memories back.

“Forget it, OK? You wouldn't understand.” he told them, turning to go join Harry. As he left, they twins called out to him.

“By the way Mal, we meant what said before.” Fred shouted.

“Yeah, we know you're not going to become the next Dark Lord just because you're in Slytherin!”

“Nah, you were on that path _way_ beforeHogwarts!”

“It takes one to know one!” Mal retorted as he sat down. “Gits.” he muttered, not unfondly, to Harry. The dark haired boy gave him a worried smile.

“D'you really think he'll come round?” he asked, quietly. Mal grimaced. 

“Who knows? Fred and George're right though, Ron needs time to get big changes through his head.

The rest of the week passed mostly without incident. Professor McGonagall was a good teacher – stern but fair, even with the Slytherins. And she'd certainly impressed everyone by turning her desk into a pig and back. Professor Flitwick, too, had a knack of making lessons interesting, even if he did fall off his chair when he read Harry's name. Three times a week they went down to the greenhouses to learn Herbology form Professor Sprout. It would have been fascinating, if they hadn't had it with Ravenclaws – Hermione Granger seemed to have alienated herself from everyone with her insistence on answering _all_ the questions Professor Sprout asked.

_ Still, she's probably better off in Ravenclaw – she actually has competition, not just people taking the mickey like Gryffindor would. _

History of Magic and Defence on the other hand, were a joke – the most interesting thing that had happened in Professor Binns class was him floating through the blackboard. Mal quickly resolved to owl Tonks for her old History of Magic essays, and use the class for more useful things. Defence Against the Dark Arts was disappointing for another reason. Professor Quirrel was almost impossible to understand, his stutter distracting from his teaching, as did the odd smell that lingered in his classroom. Several of the students had theories about his ridiculous purple turban as well, as he had never given a straight answer about its origin. No, Mal decided, Professor Quirrel was probably one of his least favourite teachers. 

Friday however, dawned bright and sunny, and Mal's grin brightened as two Owls came to visit him at breakfast. One was form Aunt Drom and Uncle Ted, a care package from home, plus an essay-length letter he thought would probably be better read in private. But it was Tonks' scribbled note that had Mal in stitches.

 

_ Hi there little cuz!, _

_ I got your letter, and sorry, but I’m not giving you my History essays. I will send you my notes, but that's it. A bit of hard work never killed anyone. I hope you're holding up in the house of the Snakes, and you haven’t made any permanent enemies in your first week. Mum and Dad are super proud, but I think there a bit worried for you too – after all, mum has first hand experience of all the sneaky dealings in Slytherin. How's Harry? People at work were **very** interested in that Sorting, let me tell you. Half the people think it's proof that he really is a dark as some idiots think he is, but those who don't think Y-K-W is really gone think it means he'll end up getting rid of him for good. Just for very different reasons. **Anyway** , I actually wrote to ask you to check a rumour out for me. **Not** what's on the third floor corridor, Dumbledore as his reasons, checking it out is a dumb idea Mal. And tricking Ron into doing it is just mean. (And will only prove his dumb ideas). No, there is a rumour about Snape's first year potions lessons. _

_ Now, I don't know if it's true or not, but I’ve heard that he likes recycling his so-called 'welcome' speech. Like I say, I don't know how true it is, but we've got a pool going - it's been a quiet week for the trainees. _

Following this was a short transcript, at which Mal's laughter drew Harry's attention. Shortly after Harry joined him in fits of giggles.

_ If it **is** true, you'll have made my **life** (And got me 50 galleons). See you at Crimbo, and try not to do anything too stupid. Not unless you can get pictures ;) _

_ Lotsa luv,  _

_** Tonks x ** _

 

“Do you really think its true?” Harry said eventually, once they had regained control of themselves.

“Who knows? I almost hope it's not true, otherwise I'm never going to be able to keep a straight face.”

“What have you got there, Draco?” a cool voice came from behind them. 

“Letter from home.”

“And what on earth is so amusing?”

“here, read it if you want.” Mal handed the letter over to Blaise Zabini, who's mouth twitched as he read the letter. As he reached the section about Snap he give a slight snort, before handing it back to Mal.

“It will certainly be _interesting_ to see if your cousin's suspicions are correct.” he nodded at the two of them before sitting down for his own breakfast. They chatted for a little while before Mal and Harry excused themselves, Harry a little more reluctantly

“What did you do that for? I wasn't done!” Harry complained as Mal tugged him down to the common room.

“If Tonks is right, Snape always picks on someone. Scare the ickle firsties, big himself up, yadayada.”

“And you think it'll be me? Why?”

“You're famous, like it or not. And you _know_ how weird Snape got around you the other day.” Harry nodded remembering the incident. They had got rather lost, and they had come across Snape. Explaining their situation, he had given them highly helpful directions, but the entire time he had completely ignored looking Harry in the face. “So, if you swot up, then he can't yell at you. Unless he really wants to, but at least we can make a good impression.”

 

Harry supposed Mal was right, but he could help thinking that his friend thought in corkscrews instead of straight lines. Still, there was know question that Professor Snape had some weird issues about Harry, and it _would_ be nice to win a few house points In fitting with their campaign to impress/annoy Professor Snape, the boys arrived to Potions a little early. Harry's heart sunk a little as Ron pointedly ignored him and Mal for the fourth time this week. At least Neville gave them a smile, which helped a little.

“Idiot.” muttered Mal, expression calculating.

As they took their places in the dungeon classroom, Harry felt a whoosh of air sweep over him, nervously he looked around, only to see Daphne Greengrass smiling smugly at him.

“You were making me sick with that birds nest, Potter.” she told him.

“What did she do?” Harry whispered nervously to to Mal, who seemed to be stifling a laugh.

“Looks good. No, really. She must have you some sort of hair charm because it's not all” Mal waved his hands around his head. 

Snape swept in, robe billowing behind him.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making. As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death - if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach." Snape's voice was low, eyes dark.

But the effect was somewhat spoiled by the sniggering Slytherins on the third row.

“Is something amusing, Potter, Malfoy?”

“No sir,” they replied, trying desperately to school their features into something approaching respect. Snape's eyes narrowed.

“Since you seem to find my speech so amusing...Malfoy, what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”

Harry watched Mal blanch at the question. The other boy frowned.

“I'm not sure sir...could you be more specific?”

Snape's jaw clenched

“Powdered root of asphodel, infusion of wormwood, Valerian root,a Sopophous bean and a sloth's brain are all ingredients of which potion?”

“Isn't the Draught of Living Death a NEWT level potion, professor?” Mal asked, politely, and Snape gave a dark smile.

“It is indeed Mr Malfoy. 10 points for an effective recovery...and for such advanced potions knowledge.” the genuine smile Snape gave Mal turned nasty as he turned to Harry, who gulped. “Now, our new _celebrity_.” several Gryffindors sniggered, and there were a few suspicious sounding coughs on the Slytherin side.

_ I'm doomed _

“What, Potter is a bezoar?” 

Harry looked at Snape nonplussed, even when they'd gone over their books this morning, he was sure he couldn't remember seeing any mention of a bezoar there.

“I don't know sir.” he admitted reluctantly. Snape's eyes glittered maliciously.

“Clearly fame isn't everything. I suppose you thought your reputation would make you immune from any actual learning, hmm Potter?”

“I” Harry started, breaking off as Mal stepped on his foot.

“Very well, a question even a child would know the answer to. What, Potter, is the difference between Monkshood and Wolfsbane.”

A grin spread over Harry's face.

“None sir, they're the same plant. And it's sometimes called aconite too?”

“Are you asking me or telling me, Potter?” Snape carried on without giving him a chance to reply. “Surprisingly, Potter is correct, and a bezoar, for those of you are incapable of opening a book before my lessons, is a stone taken fro, the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most known poisons _ .”  _ He glared at the class. “Well, why aren't you writing all this down?” 

There was a scurry of movement as people grabbed quills and parchment from their bags. As Professor Snape waved his wand lazily, the instruction for that days lesson appeared on the board. He started to explain his expectations, but was drawn short by Mal's raised hand.

“ What is it, Mr Malfoy?” asked Snape, irritably.

“I was just wondering sir, whether we might swap partners for today. Promote inter-house unity and all that.”

Snape frowned, obviously question Mal's motives. Then again so was Harry.

“Am I not good enough or something?” he joked.

“No, but Neville's really not. He's rubbish at Potions, and Snape breathing down his neck'll probably make it even worse.” Mal whispered back, still looking as if butter wouldn't melt in his mouth.

“Very well.” Snape had reached his decision. “Each of you pick a partner who is not a house mate.”

Harry couldn't help wondering if Mal had had more aims than just helping Neville, as the blond boy gave him a sneaky push towards the long nosed ginger boy at the back of the classroom.

“Hi Ron,” said Harry, as he unpacked his things. The other boy grunted and Harry felt a spark of irritation. But ignored it for the moment, focusing on the instructions on the board – it definitely helped that they had gone over their book this morning. Eventually though, the building resentment got too much.

“Look, are you really going to ignore me and Mal just because we got sorted into Slytherin? Neville seems fine with it.” Harry pointed out. Ron glanced over to the other boys' workstation, where Neville seemed to be looking at Mal with pure gratitude. Even as they watched, Neville laughed quietly as Mal made a joke, all the while helping his less skilled friend with his potion.

Ron looked back at Harry, ears tinged pink.

“Yeah, well Neville could probably out nice a Hufflepuff! It's just weird, okay? I-”

Ron cut himself off as Snape swept round to inspect their cauldrons. His lip curled as he looked at Ron's but his eyebrows raised as he examined Harry's.

“Acceptable, I suppose. Evidently you must have inherited _some_ of your mother's abilities.” he drawled, before billowing off to terrorise another pair. Harry felt a little sick. He wasn't sure whether it was the potion fumes or Snape's casual revelation.

“Snape knew my _mum_?”

“Maybe he went out with her?” Ron suggested, wickedly.

The whole class turned to stare at Harry exaggerated retching, as he pretended to vomit into his cauldron.

“5 points from Slytherin, Mr Potter. Potions classes are neither the time or the place for such ridiculous melodrama.”

Harry nodded sheepishly, waiting until the Professor's back was turned, before driving an elbow into Ron's ribs.

“Thanks a lot for that, I'm never going to sleep again!”

“Slytherin's obviously infected you with a flair for the dramatic, then.” Ron retorted still sniggering at Harry's horror-stricken expression.

 

After that it was almost as if there had never been a rift between them. Every time Ron made a joke, or asked Harry for a hand, as 'somehow you know what the heck Snape's on about' he had to force himself to look serious and studious. Especially when Snape looked around. Right now, nothing could top being friends with Ron again, not even when Mal won back the points Harry lost, plus ten more for stopping Neville from adding porcupine quills to his potion _before_ he took it off the fire.

“That's so unfair!” Ron grumbled. “if a Gryffindor helped Neville we'd probably get points taken off for 'interfering with another student's work”

“So _maybe_ it's a good thing Mal's in Slytherin” Harry muttered back, pointedly. “Otherwise Neville and whoever helped him would've lost points. He probably doesn't even care that much about Neville because Mal made Slytherin look good.”

Ron looked at Harry with an expression that was half respect, half shame-faced embarrassment.

“I have been a git, haven't I”

“You think?” asked Harry sardonically, but grinned at Ron.

The rest of the class passed mostly without incident, although Ron was sent into a fit of near Apoplexy when Snape only took one point off of Crabbe for melting through his cauldron.

Finally though, they were free, and as they took off for break, Pansy Parkinson gave a theatrical sigh of relief.

“Well am I glad that _that's_ over. Why on earth do we have to have lessons with the Gryffinbores, anyway?” 

“It's obvious, isn't” asked Mal.

“No one asked you Malfoy!” she snapped back. “And don't think I didn't see you getting awfully chummy with Fatbottom or whatever his name is.”

“But it _is_ obvious, isn't it?” Daphne Greengrass chimed in.

“Enlighten me.”

“Snape _hates_ Gryffindor, right?” said Mal. Pansy rolled her eyes.

“As done anyone with half a brain. Which clearly means you and Potter are pretty brainless, hanging out with that blood-traitor.”

“But he favours Slytherin.” said Mal, as if Pansy hadn't spoken. “So whoever's in charge of timetabling put us together because they thought that Professor Snape's Slytherin favouring would outweigh is Gryffindor hating.”

“So he'd give them a fair lesson!” Harry realised, blushing as he realised the rest of the Slytherin first-years were staring at them.

“It makes sense.” said Blaise Zabini, as they slipped into the Slytherin common room. “After all, Snape couldn't very sabotage what he teaches the Gryffindors if he has to teach his own house too.”

“Makes you wonder why he's a teacher.” retorted Sophie Roper. “I'm not saying he isn't brilliant at Potions, 'cause he obviously is, but you can be a genius at something and still crap at explaining it.” There was a thoughtful murmur of assent.

All the same, it was interesting to note that the dynamic between the first-years changed ever so slightly after that. Before then, the girls had mostly kept themselves apart from the boys, but with Sophie Roper being an odd man, or woman out. Harry and Mal too had kept themselves apart, while the other boys mostly stuck together, apart from when Blaise took it upon himself to be Harry's honour guard.

Now however, Pansy, Nott and Crabbe tended to stick together, usually being offensive to muggle-borns. Daphne, Tracey and Millicent had drifted into their own trio, only deigning to speak to the others when necessary. Not that they weren't polite, of course. And Blaise and Sophie had almost become real friends, revealing respectively a wicked knack for subtle sarcasm and an amazing ability at mimicry. Between making new friend and reconciling with a less new one, Harry was beginning to feel like he really, truly belonged at Hogwarts.

 

 

 


	7. The Midnight Duel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some interesting discoveries are made...

 

“What's got you looking so cheerful?” Harry asked as he came into the common room, and Mal grinned. 

“Flying lessons on Thursday, look.” 

“With the _Gryffindors._ ” Blaise chipped in, face sullen.

“They're not that bad, Blaise. Besides, I’m just looking forward to seeing the Abomination on a broom.”

“What?” Blaise asked, bemused, while Harry looked at him oddly.

“Never mind.”

The rest of the house varied wildly in their enthusiasm. The girls seemed to view the whole thing as rather distasteful, although whether that was due them having the lessons with the Gryffindors, or just at the concept of flying lessons in general, Mal couldn't tell. Sophie, however, seemed more panicked than unenthusiastic, and Mal couldn't help but wonder how much exposure she'd had to magic before Hogwarts. But this was Slytherin, after all and you just didn't ask about blood-status. 

 

But Thursday came, and Mal cursed as he realised he'd slept in. He got dressed in a hurry, swearing at his shoes for seemingly hiding themselves in the most unlikely of places.

_ How the heck did it end up  _ behind _the wardrobe?_

He ran into the common room, grabbing his bag, and immediately felt guilty as he spotted a familiar head of messy black hair sticking over the back of an armchair.

“Hey,”

“Oh, hi Mal.”

“You didn't have to wait for me you know.”  
“I know.” Harry shrugged, a mischievous grin on his face. “I was going to give you five more minutes and then I was going to go in and pour water on your face.”  
“Thanks.” Mal said dryly, and they left for breakfast at a run.

They nearly collided with Hermione Granger as she came out of the Great Hall, nose in a book, but quick thinking avoided any actual injury. 

Mal hid a smile as he realised her book was _Quidditch Through the Ages -_ Of course, Granger was probably terrified about the prospect of flying lessons. Odd she hadn't made any friends yet though – Mal thought Ravenclaw's were all bookworms. Then again, her habit of being a know-it-all probably didn't help.

But here was food, and Mal's stomach gurgled as he took in the smell of food. 

Ignoring Nott droning on about his so-called escapades avoiding Muggle helicopters, Mal dug into to his breakfast. 

_ Mmmm _ . Even on normal days, Hogwarts had amazing meals.

“What's that Gemma?” Harry asked, and Mal looked up from his bowl. The prefect had a copy of the _Daily Prophet,_ and she glanced up.

“The paper?”

“The story.”

“Oh this? She folded the page over, so Mal and Harry could see the article: 'GRINGOTTS BREAK-IN LATEST. _“_ Last weeks paper, haven't had a chance to read it yet. Crazy though, isn't it?”

“Can I have a look at the article?” Harry asked and Gemma's eyebrows raised. 

“I suppose, but _why?_ ”

“He's actually the thief, he's making sure no one suspects him.” Mal grinned, and the prefect rolled her eyes.

“Fine, I want it back when you're done. Here.” 

Gemma thrust the paper at them, and they read it eagerly.

 

GRINGOTTS BREAK IN LATEST

_ Investigations continue into the break-in at Gringotts on the 31st of  _

_ July, widely believed to be the work of dark wizards or witches _

_ unknown. _

_ Gringotts goblins today insisted that nothing had been taken.  _

_ The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied  _

_ the same day. _

_ 'But we're not telling you what was in there, so keep your  _

_ nose out if you know what's good for you,' said a Gringotts _

_spokesgoblin this afternoon._

 

“That's my birthday! It might have happened while we were there!” Harry said, eye huge behind his glasses, and Mal raised his eyebrows.

“Cool.”

“That's weird right?”

“Maybe – I remember everyone was really worried it was one of You-Know-Who's supporters.” Mal grabbed the paper, and headed over to the Gryffindor table, ignoring Gemma's indignant 'Hey, bring that back, Malfoy!'

Ignoring the stony looks some of the older Gryffindors gave him Mal sat down between Neville and Ron, spreading the paper between them.

“Mal!” Ron cried indignantly, and the blond boy rustled the paper at him.

“Just read this, will you?”  
“I don't get it.” Neville said, frowning.

“It was the day I was there – and Hagrid said he was there on 'important Hogwarts business'! What if what the thief was trying to steal the thing Hagrid was there to get?”

“Only way to find out is to ask him, I suppose.” Mal said, thoughtfully and Harry grimaced.

“He hasn't spoken to me since I got sorted.”

“Oh he's one of those idiots, is he?” Mal muttered darkly, shooting a look at Ron, who blushed.

“Oh come off it Mal, I said I was sorry.”  
“I know. Just fun to watch you squirm.” said Mal, cheerily. “Anyway, we'd better get off before McGonagall gives us detention for being late. See you later!”

They ran off to Transfiguration, thankfully getting to the door within seconds of the professor herself, but Mal could barely concentrate. Transfiguration wasn't his best subject on a good day, but today he was too focussed on what waited for them in the afternoon.

Flying lessons. He'd heard horror stories, from both Tonks and the older Weasley siblings, about brooms that vibrated if you flew too high, or wouldn't turn properly, but he didn't care – it would be annoying if you compared them to his Comet, it was true, but a whole afternoon actually _flying_ instead of cooped up in a classroom was definitely something to look forward to. 

So at twenty past three that afternoon, Mal, Harry and the rest of Slytherin hurried down into the grounds for their first flying lesson. They had to wait for Madam Hooch and the Gryffindors, and Mal jumped up and down to keep warm in the bitter wind. As he did, noticed Harry looking rather gloomy.

“What's up?” Mal asked.

“I've never flown before – what if I end up looking like an idiot in front of the Gryffindors? Half of them think I’m some kind of dark wizard as it is.” 

“So if you look like an idiot maybe they'll see you're actually a normal kid?” Mal suggested.

“Harry, normal?” Ron asked, grinning, and Mal turned to see he and Neville had arrived, the other Gryffindors trailing behind.

“Prat – what took you so long, it's freezing!”

“Madam Hooch isn't here yet.” Neville pointed out reasonably, and Mal stuck out his tongue.

“Smart arse. You ready to fly, then?”  
“Dunno. You know me.” Neville shrugged, and Mal and Ron laughed.

“I don't.” said Harry, curiously.

“Right! Sorry Harry. Nev's gran wouldn't let him near a broom for years.”

“Can't blame her really.” said Neville, round face a little embarrassed. “I mean, I have enough accidents on the ground, so...” He trailed off and Mal took over.

“Then Tonks pointed out that she's even clumsier than Neville and she's actually halfway decent on a broom – because she started young. I mean it's not like she can _help_ the clumsy, so Mrs Longbottom gave up.”

“And Nev's gran is _scary_.” Ron added.

“She's not that bad.” Neville protested, bringing a glass orb filled with smoke from his pocket. “She sent me this, this morning. It's a Remembrall –the smoke glows red if you've forgotten something.”  
“Yeah, except it doesn't tell you _what_ you've forgotten.” Ron pointed out, and Neville shrugged again, good-naturedly.

As the rest of the Gryffindors joined them, Ron and Neville moved away, giving them an apologetic look. The rest of the Gryffindors had just about accepted their inter-house friendship, but things got awkward if they were actually confronted with it.

Even at lunch, Mal had overheard some of the older Gryffindors giving Ron and Neville stick for 'consorting with the enemy'.

_ Idiots. _

As for Slytherin, most of their house mates seemed semi-convinced that Mal and Harry were either blackmailing their Gryffindor friends, or trying to get them to spy for Slytherin.

Sometimes, the twisted minds of his house mates disturbed Mal. The rest of the time, he was almost glad at how blind it made them.

He grinned as Madam Hooch finally showed up, her yellow eyes and short grey hair making her look rather like a hawk.

“Well, what are you all waiting for?” she barked. “Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up.”

“She says after being late.” Blaise muttered on the other side of Mal and he snorted. His good humour didn't extend to the broom though; it had seen decidedly better days. Still it looked as though Slytherin had got the better brooms. Or at least, the ones that didn't look like they'd gone five rounds with a rogue Bludger.

“Stick out your right hand over you broom, and say up!”

“UP!” everyone shouted. Mal smirked as his broom shot into his hand, as did Harry's but barely any of the others had. Ron's had, after some hesitation, but Neville's had only given a feeble little jolt upwards. Sophie's on the other hand had just rolled over. 

Brooms were funny things though, and they could usually tell if someone _really_ wanted to use them. Probably half of the problems were due to fear or sheer distrust of the school brooms. 

Mal fidgeted in line as Madam Hooch went over mounting their brooms, and correcting their grip. He _knew_ all this already, he just wanted to actually get in the air!

He wasn't feeling half as confident a minute later, when Madam Hooch told him he'd been holding his broom wrong for years.

“Oh, shut up.” he muttered irritably, to Harry and Blaise, who were both trying to suppress sniggers. At least it had cheered Sophie up a little, and she looked less as if would throw up the second she got on a broom.

_Finally,_ the flying mistress seemed satisfied.

“Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard,” she said. “Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet and then come straight back down by leaning forwards slightly. On my whistle – three, two, one!” a shrill blast punctured the air, and they rose up, some with easy confidence, others with a wobble. Neville had hesitated for a minute, but he was up in the air with everyone else in seconds.

“And down!” Madam Hooch called. 

Mal groaned. This was going to be a _long_ lesson.

 

* * *

 

Harry felt a grin growing as Madam Hooch finally let them into the air proper – they still weren't allowed higher than the first floor, but he was actually flying. A little niggling part of him was urging him to fly higher, fly faster, but he steadfastly ignored it. By the look on Mal's face, he was having the same problem. 

Harry gasped as he saw Nott and Crabbe barrel towards Neville, forcing him upwards to avoid a crash. He must have turned too sharply, for as Harry watched, he slipped from the broom, face parchment wide as he saw the ground coming up to meet him. Something glittered as it fell from Neville's pocket, and without thinking, Harry hurtled after it, catching it barely a foot from the ground. Harry dismounted in time to see Neville hit the ground with a _thud_ and a sickening crack.

Harry stood, transfixed by the sight of his friend's unmoving body, barely aware of the chaos around him.

“Everyone down on the ground now!” Madam Hooch's panicked cry was followed by three bursts on her whistle. As he saw Neville move, Harry gradually became aware of his surroundings again, and looked to see what he had saved.

In his hand lay Neville's Remembrall. He crossed the grass, to where his friend was starting sit up, Madam Hooch at his side, her face as pale as his.

“Broken wrist.” Harry heard her murmur. “Come on, up you get, you'll be all right.” She turned to the class, eyes flashing angrily. “Who saw what happened.

“Nott and Crabbe charged him.” Ron said, through gritted teeth, fists clenched.

“No I didn't!”

“Yes, you did.” Mal's voice was cold, but Harry had a feeling he was seething behind his outward expression. Nott went to protest again, but Madam Hooch cut him off. 

“Enough! 50 points each and two months of detention for both of you, for endangering another students life! And when Dumbledore hears of this, you'll be lucky if you don't get expelled! Never have I seen such blatant _idiocy_ and maliciousness in a first year!”

There was an indignant hiss from the Slytherins, but the look in Madam Hooch's eye prevented any further protest. “And Mr Potter!” Harry jumped, and felt a creeping blush as twenty pairs of eyes focused on him. “Nice catch. I haven't seen such a neat dive since your father. What was you risked your neck to catch, by the way?” Dumbly, Harry held out the Remembrall, and Madam Hooch pocketed it. “Now, before I get Mr Longbottom to the hospital wing, a few words. None of you are to move until I get back! You leave those brooms where they or you'll be out of here as soon as you can say 'Quidditch'. Oh, and Nott, Crabbe, with me.”

She left, arm around Neville, trailing a murderous looking Nott and Crabbe. There was a moment of stunned silence, before someone started to clap. Harry blushed again, as it swelled into full fledged applause. Mal and Ron were immediately at his side, both grinning, babbling about 'how _cool!_ ' that had been.

“I just didn't want Neville's thing to get broken.”

“So modest, Mr Potter,” Mal drawled, clapping him on the back. “Still, she could have given you points or something, it'll take _forever_ to get them back now.”

“Harry was technically disobeying her.” Blaise pointed out, coming over to join them. Ron gave him a wary look, but said nothing. “She couldn't have rewarded him for that.”  
Mal grunted in what Harry assumed was a yes, but he still looked half furious.

“So what did you think Harry?” Ron eventually said, after a moment of uncomfortable silence.

“Wicked! I wish we could go again...” he cast a longing look towards the brooms.

“Don't even think about it Harry. I’m not so sure Hooch was joking, you know.” Blaise warned him, through amusement crinkled the edges of his eyes. Harry grimaced, but realised that Blaise had a point. 

All the same it _had_ been amazing – the broom had responded with barely a hitch, and it had felt so e _asy_ – the first thing at Hogwarts that had felt _right_ without a seconds hesitation. 

After Madam Hooch came back, they had about 15 minutes more in the air. It felt painfully slow to Harry, but when he came back down, the teacher pulled him aside. He froze.

“I'd just like to say, Mr Potter, that while first-years aren't allowed brooms, there isn't any rule that states they're not allowed to try out for the team. The Slytherin captain's a fifth-year called Marcus Flint. Normally I wouldn't condone such rule bending, but it would be shame for someone who flies the way you do not to get a chance to really hone their skills. Personally I’d say you were a born Seeker.” Suddenly, Madam Hooch didn't look any where near as fierce.

“Uh yeah.” Harry said, dazed. “I mean, it looks the most like me.” 

“Now, get on with you, Mr Potter. Madam Hooch grinned. “and you didn't hear any of this from me.”

Harry walked away a little unsteadily, breaking into a run to catch up with Ron and Mal, who were trailing at the back of the two groups.

“What was all that about?” Mal asked, curiously.

Harry told them.  
“You're _joking_.” Ron looked as if he didn't know whether to be jealous or impressed. 

“You jammy bastard.” Mal shook his head. “If it had been me, she'd probably have given me detention - clearly you're still a golden boy to _some_ people.”  
“What are you on about?” Ron asked, frowning in confusion.  
“He's being a prat.” 

“Not my fault if it's the truth.” retorted Mal, before taking pity on Ron. “In Slytherin, people's opinions are rather divided on whether Harry is in fact a dark wizard or just a kid with a big reputation. Not many fans of the 'Boy-Who-Lived' in the house of silver or green” 

Harry rolled his eyes, both at Mal's words and his pompous tone. 

“You're a right spanner sometimes, Mal.”

“I try. Anyway, see you later Ron, before we get accused of corrupting you again.”

“That lot can go piss up a tree.” Ron grumbled, and Harry laughed. All the same, Mal had a point, and now they'd got to the castle, members of both houses were giving them unfriendly looks. Harry frowned. What did they care if he and Mal wanted to be friends with Ron?

_ I wish there was somewhere we could just hang out without being  _ judged _all the time._ Harry thought, glumly.

 

Nott and Crabbe still hadn't shown up after dinner, and rumours were already floating through the Slytherin common room. They had been expelled, their wands snapped and they were already on the way home – and that was one of the tamest rumours. Harry had found Flint the second they had got in, and the fifth-year – who looked, in Harry's opinion, rather like a troll – he'd read the Hobbit in primary school. Flint had looked rather amused that Harry thought he was good enough, but said Harry could come along to try-out after he told him what Madam Hooch had said. 

Now, he, Mal, Blaise and Sophie were sat on the floor by the fire, since the upper-years always claimed the armchairs. They were puzzling over their Potions homework for the next day when Nott stormed in, Crabbe looming behind him.

“Suppose you think you're clever do you, Malfoy?” Nott snarled.

“Yes actually.” 

“Bet you're not half as clever without witnesses.” 

“What's that supposed to mean? Are you trying to get me _alone_ , Nott? Mal raised his eyebrows smirking. “If it's all the same to you, I’ll pass, thanks.”

“You've got no honour, Malfoy – just like your dear _daddy.”_ Nott sneered as Mal stiffened. 

“Oh, no you don't Nott. Wizards duel. Tonight, at midnight in the trophy room.”

A murmur rippled through the common room.

“What's going on?” Harry whispered to Blaise.

“You don't insult a purebloods honour – it's almost the worst insult you can give. Even if Mal's technically a blood-traitor.”

“And a wizard's duel?”  
“Wands only – and a way for Mal to beat an apology out of Nott – if he goes through with it.”  
Nott seemed to have gone purple.

“What's the matter, _Theodore?_ Too chicken?” Mal taunted and Harry felt uncomfortable. He'd never seen his friend like this.

“Of course not. I’ll be there. Crabbe's my second, who's yours?”

Mal flicked his gaze over to Harry and Blaise, as if sizing them up.

“Zabini – if he'll accept.”

Blaise gave a curt nod as Harry looked on in bewilderment. 

As Nott stormed off, Mal gave a huge shuddering breath, slumping against the back of an armchair.

“You're _not_ serious, are you Mal?” Blaise said, the second Nott and Crabbe were out of earshot. 

“He insulted my honour, Blaise. Besides you said you'd be my second, didn't you?”

“What's a second?”

“They're there to take over if you die,” Blaise said, still glowering at Mal, and Harry blanched.

“But usually that only happens if the people in the duel are any good,” Sophie spoke up for the first time. “What's the most you and Nott are gonna do, throw sparks at each other? There are easier ways of getting revenge you know.”

Mal didn't reply, but looked decidedly mulish. 

Harry couldn't quite believe that Mal had been so impulsive, but then he'd never seen him look like that, either, all cold fury and hard edges. It had been almost scary.

 

Midnight came, and Harry woke to someone shaking him awake. The rough shape of Mal loomed over him, a pale shape in the gloom. Harry fumbled for his glasses, squinting as the room came into focus.

“Whazzit?” he asked, still half asleep.

“Time for my duel, remember? Blaise is waking Nott and Crabbe.”  
“You're really doing this? Wait, why d'you need me?”

“We don't really, but I thought you'd want to watch - or at least keep a look out.”  
Harry frowned, but rolled his eyes at Mal's beseeching look.

“Fine. But only because I’ve never seen one.”

They left the common room at intervals, making Nott and Crabbe go first. 

“Should we have got Sophie?” Harry wondered quietly as they slipped through deserted corridors. Jeez, Hogwarts was creepy at night.

“Not if you like living.” muttered Blaise darkly, and Harry muffled a snort. He kept expecting to run into the caretaker, Filch, or his demon cat Mrs Norris, but so far they'd been lucky. They snuck up to the third floor and entered the trophy room cautiously, in case Nott decided to ambush them.

The crystal trophy cases and their contents glimmered in the moonlight, but the room was empty.

“Those _bastards_!” Mal whispered fiercely. “They must have doubled back before we could get here.”

“I told you this was a bad idea.” Blaise started, but shut his mouth after Mal shot him an evil glare. Harry was beginning to wish he'd just stayed in bed, when a noise in the next room made them freeze.

“Sniff around my sweet, I know I heard something.”

“It's Filch!” Harry mouthed, and the three of them looked at each other in sheer panic. 

“This way.” Blaise breathed, and they sidled into the next room, missing Filch's entry by a whisker. They headed straight out again, only catching a snatch of Filch's muttering

“They're in here somewhere...”

“This way!” Harry gestured frantically, and they snuck down a gallery full of suits of armour. They hurtled down round corridor, without a clue of where they where, Harry sure Filch must be gaining on them. They tore through a tapestry and into a secret passageway which brought them out near the Charms classroom.

“Wait which way now?” asked Harry, the directions back to the common room escaping his head in the adrenalin rush.

“This way.” Blaise said, but he didn't look as confident as he sounded. There was a door at the end of the corridor which looked vaguely familiar, but when they got there it was locked. Harry froze as he caught movement out of the corner of his eye and groaned inwardly.

“Peeves!” he hissed, and in one fluid wand movement, Mal had the door open and they were safe on the other side. Harry slammed the door shut, before peering through the keyhole to check if the coast was clear. 

“I think we're safe,” he said, after a minute.

“That's nice Harry.” Mal replied, voice an octave higher than normal. 

Harry turned round to see just  _why_ the door had been locked. A monstrous dog, an enormous thing who's  _three_ heads brushed the top of the ceiling was staring right at them, yellow fangs dripping with saliva.

“This is the forbidden corridor, isn't it.” Blaise said, face looking almost green. Harry and Mal nodded dumbly, as taken by surprise as the monster presumably was. But as they watched, thundering growls rumbled up in its chest.

Mal swore, and Harry scrabbled to open the door before the hell-hound could eat them – between a horribly gory death and Filch or Peeves, he'd take the option that didn't end up with him as kibble.

Them slammed the door shut again, wincing at the crash, and Mal and Blaise replaced the locking charm. They retraced their steps back to the Charms classroom, and this time, took the right corridor.

They arrived back at the common room panting, having run the whole way, trying to put as much distance between them and the  _thing_ as possible.

They collapsed forward as the wall slid forward, stumbling into the armchairs nearest.

“What the hell do they think they're doing keeping that _thing_ locked up in school with a charm a bloody eleven year old could open?” Mal demanded, the second he could speak, and Harry nodded, eyes still like saucers.

“Dumbledore needs his head checking.” Blaise said darkly. “Who the hell uses a _Cerberus_ as a guard dog?”

“Guard dog? Mal and Harry chorused in confusion.

“Didn't you see? It was standing on a trapdoor.”

“I was more focused on _my imminent death_ , actually Blaise!” Mal retorted, voice raising in pitch

“And the heads...” Harry added, helpfully.

“All the same, I’m Owling mother to complain first thing. Nothing can be important enough to put a monster in a school!” Blaise said as he stood up, stretching.

“And tell her what? You'll get us all in trouble.”  
“Who's idea was a wizard's duel in the first place Mal?”  
Mal's mouth opened and closed, rather like a fish, Harry thought, yawning hugely. The three of them sat there, staring into the embers of the fire.

What seemed like minutes later, Harry was shaken roughly awake, to Sophie looking at him in disapproval. 

“Sophie? What time is it?”

“Just past two. I was going to wait up for you, but I fell asleep. You lot need to get to bed, or Farley'll have you're heads for being caught out past past curfew.”  
“Thanks, Soph.” Harry said gratefully, and he could see the girl was trying not to smile.

“You're welcome – now do you want to wake these two idiots that dragged you out, or leave them to get caught?”

Harry laughed, before moving to shake Mal awake. As he did, he couldn't help wonder just  _what_ the dog had been guarding, and if it had anything to do with the mysterious break in at Gringotts. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Standard Disclaimers apply


	8. Halloween

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fixed point arrives...what impact will the twisting of fate have? Or in other words, it's Halloween at Hogwarts...

 

Of course, the day after, when the terror had faded, Harry decided he'd quite enjoyed his adventure, and would be perfectly happy to have another. Mal too, seemed interested, though probably more at the prospect of having an insane story to tell than any actual life of death situations. Blaise on the other hand, told them in no uncertain terms that they were both completely mad, and in future, they could leave him out any insane adventure, thank you. Sophie wasn't sure whether to find the whole thing amusing or give them cold shoulder for being so stupid.

They found Ron and Neville after lunch, both the first and second year Slytherins having Friday afternoons off, and found themselves a quiet overlooked corner of the library in which they could spin their tale.

Ron seemed suitably impressed – and quite disgruntled that they'd left him out of it, where Neville was grateful they had. Like Blaise, the round-faced boy preferred a quiet life.

“So then we got back and Blaise says, 'Who the hell uses a _Cerberus_ as a guard dog? ', I didn't even realise there was a trapdoor!” Mal finished, waving his hands in excitement.

“Cool. What d'you reckon it could be?” asked Ron, eyes wide.

“I think it's to do with whatever Hagrid took from Gringotts they day we were there.” Harry said, suddenly.

“What did it look like?” asked Neville, curiously. Harry frowned.

“It wasn't very big...” he shaped his hands to the size he remembered. “And it was wrapped in brown paper.”

“I bet it's a really valuable magic artifact.” said Mal, eyes alight with excitement.

“Or really -” Ron paused as Hermione Granger walked past, her eyes narrowing as she caught the four of them – though whether it was because she'd overheard their conversation, or just at the sight of Gryffindors and Slytherins talking perfectly civilly, Harry couldn't tell. “Or really dangerous.” Ron repeated more quietly.

“We need to find a better meeting place.” Mal muttered, and Harry, Ron and Neville nodded in agreement.

“I'll ask the twins later. So how big was the dog again?”

They went over the story again, Harry stopping Mal from embellishing _too_ much, and they carried on theorising about just what it could be. Neville suggested some form of plant seed, but the other scoffed at the idea. All they knew was that it was small and important, to be guarded the way it was.

That Saturday, Harry woke early and for a second he couldn't place the mix of anticipation and nervousness he was feeling. Then it hit him – the Slytherin Quidditch team where having try outs today. He couldn't go back to sleep, so instead he woke up Mal. As usual, he was ridiculously grumpy, but his outlook changed when Harry said the magic word 'Quidditch'. Not that it lasted long.

“Harry, try-outs aren't for another three hours,” Mal complained.

“I know, but I want to get some proper practice in.” Harry did his best to look beseeching and it must have worked, because Mal groaned, and got out of bed, wincing as his feet touched the cold stone floor.

They ate breakfast in almost complete solitude, a few studious Ravenclaws putting in extra homework hours the only other people in the Great Hall. They slipped out quietly, a thin layer of fog blanketing the grounds and lake, the grass still slick with dew as the first rays of sun peeked over the hills.

“So just to check, a goal is worth ten points?” Harry asked as they kicked off, having taken the best brooms from the shed. Mal nodded, circling lazily higher

“And the Snitch is worth 150, and if you catch it it ends the game.”

“So if I do get Seeker, that'll be my job?”

“Yep”

“Has there ever been a match where one team win but the other get the Snitch?”

Mal raised his eyebrows.

“Probably somewhere – but there'd have to be a _massive_ points difference, or team that keeps getting caught fouling.”

Harry nodded, then lapsed into silence, enjoying the sensation of wind through his hair. He felt like he  _belonged_ on a broom – even the old clapper he was flying responded easily to his touch. He grinned, deciding to dive like he had in his first flying lesson, and laughed as he heard Mal give a startled yelp.

“Merlin’s pants, Potter you gave me a heart attack!” Mal shouted. Harry laughed again, cruising back up to where Mal was gliding.

“Sorry.” but he couldn’t help but grin, and Mal rolled his eyes.

“Sure you are. Hey, fancy a race?” he asked, but before Harry had a chance to reply, Mal was off, hurtling down the pitch. Harry gained on him easily, and Mal glanced over his shoulder in irritation, and peeled off, aiming for the stands. Harry's heart skipped a beat as he thought his fried was going to crash then narrowed his yes as he saw him weave through the stands, currently bare of any house colours. Briefly questioning his sanity, Harry followed and soon they were neck and neck, weaving through the obstacle course of struts and planks.

“HEY!”

They screeched to a halt as they saw a figure in green Quidditch robes sprint on to the pitch, broom in hand. Guiltily, Mal and Harry landed, embarrassed at having been caught.

“What the hell are you doing?” Flint demanded.

“We're here for try-outs?”

Flint shot Harry an unimpressed look.

“You're early. And I said you could try out Potter, not all your little friends.”

“Let me try, at least?”

“Fine, but I'm not promising either of you anything.” said Flint but all the same there was a glimmer of respect in his eye. Harry and Mal killed time until try-outs started proper by throwing a Quaffle between them, as Flint got things set up. As a trickle of Slytherins came down from the castle, they dismounted and sat in the stands, trying not to draw any more attention to themselves – in case 'you are chosen and the other teams send their spies' according to Flint.

He really wasn't much of a speaker, Harry decided, giving a few curt instructions to the hopefuls, before telling them to start flying. He and Mal were chosen as part of a trio of would be Chasers, but even though he'd been practising with a Quaffle, it didn't feel natural to Harry. When Flint called them down, there was an unusually thoughtful look in his eye, and Harry couldn't help but feel his stomach drop. He barely paid attention to the Keeper and Beater try-outs Flint obviously wasn't going to pick him, why else would he have tried him out as a Chaser when he wanted to be a Seeker?

“Potter, you're up after Higgs.”

“Sorry?”

Flint rolled his eyes. You, Higgs, Selwyn, Malfoy and Carrow all said you were interested in the Seekers position, I want to see what you've got. Harry nodded hurriedly feeling a bush creep over his face as the older boys sniggered.

Flint had them each diving to catch little balls, then set them on a Snitch. Carrow was awful, dropping most of the balls, and casting about for fifteen minutes before Flint called him off of the pitch in disgust. Higgs was better, and he heard one of the others mention he'd been on the team before, as a reserve. Mal was probably as good as Higgs, but his speed didn't quite make up for the borrowed broom and his mack of reach. He came of the broom looking disappointed, but resigned.

Then it was Harry's turn, and he felt butterflies mount in his stomach as he mounted his borrowed broom. He caught each ball easily, letting some drop a little further than he needed to practice his diving – rapidly becoming his favourite move. But he hadn't even been near a Snitch before he heard a call of

“All right Potter, I've seen enough.”

“What's wrong, am I not good enough?” he asked miserably.

“Not good enough? Potter, you could be better than that blood-traitor Weasley – and he could have played for England, worse luck for us. If you can get hold of a decent broom you're on the team. Higgs, you're reserve”

Higgs, Carrow and Selwyn gave him a filthy look, but Harry didn't care.

“The rest of the team, Montague, you're staying, Pucey you're the other, Beaters are X and Bletchley you're Keeper. Oh, and Malfoy?”

Mal looked up, unable to completely hide his excitement.

“Reserve Chaser. You wanted to be a Seeker, I know, but if you come to training this year you should make the team as a damn good Chaser next year.”

“I can do that,” Mal grinned, suddenly perking up.

“Well done everyone, oh and Potter, if you get that broom, you'll be the youngest Seeker in a century.”

 

 

“You jammy gits.” Sophie looked enviously at the two youngest members of the Slytherin Quidditch team, shaking her head in disbelief.

“I didn’t think you liked Quidditch that much?” Harry asked, a little confused.

“I think it's the audacity that our dear Miss Roper is laughing at” Blaise chipped in, amused. They were at lunch, try-outs having gone on longer than they'd thought, and Harry was ravenous.

“It's not set in stone though.” Mal reminded them, emphasising his point with a wave of his fork. “He's got to get a broom yet.”

“Ask Professor Snape?”

Harry snorted, then wheezed at his pumpkin juice went up his nose.

“No good.” he wheezed once he could breath again. “Snape hates me remember?”

“Oh, yeah.” Sophie frowned, disgruntled, and the four of them lapsed into thought.

Harry wondered for a minute whether they should ask Ron and Neville for ideas – after all, they usual had completely different opinions to those of his Slytherin friends, but when he brought it up, both Blaise and Mal winced dramatically.

“What?”

“You think asking Gryffindors to ask the _Slytherin_ Quidditch team is going to go down well, Harry?” Mal asked, an amused smirk on his face. Harry opened his mouth, then shut it again. 

“Oh,”

Sophie snorted, then froze, her eyes widening. Harry turned – to be greeted by the hooked nose and sallow skin of his Head of House.

“Mr Potter, if I might have a word?”

Briefly wondering whether he'd been seen leaving the third floor the other night, he followed Professor Snape out of the Great Hall, heart in his mouth.

Snape stopped abruptly, his robes billowing.

“I understand congratulations are in order.” Snape bit out, looking as though it was physically painful for him to say.

“Sir?”

“You are the new Slytherin Seeker, are you not?”

“Oh, yes! Well, if I can get a decent broom.”

Snape's black eyes glittered and Harry thought this must be what a fly feels like, trapped in a spider-web.

“Well I can't help you there, Potter. The school buying a broom for you would be seen as being complete and utter favouritism. And completely against school rules.” Snape spoke slowly, as if there was a particular significance to his words. Harry frowned, wondering if his head of house had actually gone mad. “That is all, Potter. Oh and apply yourself better in future – your last piece of homework was adequate, at best.”

And with that Snape swept off, leaving a very confused Harry in his wake.

“What was all that about?” Mal asked curiously, and Harry turned to see his Slytherin friends looking as confused as he felt.

“You were listening?”

“We had to make sure Snape didn't poison you Harry.” Sophie said, her attempt at an angelic look not even remotely convincing.

“Ha ha. But what did he mean? He didn't tell me anything I didn't already know.” said Harry, frustrated.

“He said the school couldn't buy a broom for you. What if it was donated?”

“Blaise?” Mal looked at the darker boy, a slow smile spreading across both their faces.

“An anonymous donation, you mean?”

“I still probably couldn't afford a decent broom.” Harry said, miserably.

“I think you could Harry – the Potters were always rich, even during the war.” Blaise told him. “But anyway that would be too obvious.”

“You think we could get the rest of the house to chip in?” Mal asked, grinning. They started heading back to the common room, planning as they went.

“I doubt it.” Blaise said, raising an eyebrow. “But the Quidditch team, probably. And if not, how much is the new Nimbus going for?”

“200 Galleons.”

“ _How_ much?” Sophie stared at them in disbelief, drawing to a halt outside the common room. 

“Relax Roper, it's not that bad.” Blaise said, amused.

They flopped onto one of the empty sofas, Sophie still muttering about '200 galleons for a lousy broomstick?'

“The professionals use them, Sophie.” Mal said, a look of longing on his face. “I'd love a Nimbus. If I was on the team...”

“You're not jealous, are you Mal?” Harry asked, worried.

“Only stupidly.” He laughed at the look on Harry's face. “But there's nothing I can do about it. Besides, you were better than me at try outs, it's only fair.”

“Hufflepuff.” Blaise muttered, and Mal rolled his eyes.

“And? Ambition and hard-work do tend to go together if you want to be successful, Blaise.”

“God, you sound like that Granger girl.”

Blaise and Sophie lapsed into bickering, but Harry wasn't listening, as he'd just seen Flint come through the portrait hole. He approached the other boy, detailing his plan. Flint grinned.

“Nice Potter.”

So Harry ordered a Nimbus 2000, with the help of his friends – and some money from the rest of the team. He'd promised to pay it back, but as Adrian Pucey had pointed out, it wouldn't be really anonymous. 'You just better win us every match, Potter.' He'd said, and Harry had given him a sheepish grin.

And so a few days later, a small parliament of owl flew in over the breakfast table, depositing a long thin parcel in front on Harry.

“What's that Potter?” Gemma Fawley asked.

“There's a note here.” Adrian Pucey chipped in. “Since the package isn't addressed to anyone, shall I read it?”

Mal lunged forward, grabbing it out of Pucey's hand. Adrian gave the younger boy a dirty look and he smiled beatifically.

“I just thought if the parcel landed mostly in front of Harry he should read it.”

Adrian tried to hold the disapproving look, but he knew as well as Mal what was in the package in front of Harry.

“Fine. But read it nice and loud, Potter.”

Harry did, the biggest trouble he had was keeping a straight face as he did.

“It has come to our attention that the new Slytherin Seeker is in need of a broom. As concerned Quidditch fans, we have decided to anonymously donate this Nimbus 2000 for use by the Slytherin Seeker, whoever that may be. Congratulations to the team.”

There was a moment of stunned silence, before half of Slytherin burst into almost hysterical laughter.

“We should get out of here before we cause an uproar.” Mal muttered, and Harry nodded. Signalling to Ron and Harry at the Gryffindor table, they snuck out of the hall, hiding behind the tapestry of the nearest concealed passageway.

“What was all that about?” Ron asked curiously. Harry grinned, ripping the packaging off of the parcel. Inside, the sleek new handle of Harry's Nimbus gleamed, and Ron gave a low whistle.

“Now I get why you were being all mysterious. Nice – can I ride it?”

“Um.” Harry wanted to say yes, but if he did let Ron have a go on his new broom the news that he was Slytherin's new Seeker would be out in no time, and Flint wanted to keep him as a secret.

“Maybe after the first match, right, Harry?” Mal said, and Harry gave a relieved glance.

“What do you think Neville?” Harry asked, his grin returning.

“Really cool.” Neville gave an impressed look, but before h could say more, the tapestry was ripped open, and a familiar face framed by bushy hair scowled at them disapprovingly.

“First years aren't allowed brooms, you know.” Hermione sniffed

“It says we're not allowed to _own_ them.”

“And Harry doesn't _own_ it.” Mal chipped in, smirking.

“No, it was a mysterious donation, Hermione, for use by the Slytherin Seeker.” Harry couldn’t help but add, face split by an enormous grin.

“ _You're_ the Slytherin Seeker? But you're only a first year!” Harry winced as Hermione's voice raised in a screech. 

“Yep, youngest in a century.” Mal and Harry were grinning like Cheshire cats, and Ron was trying not to snigger. Neville gave Hermione an apologetic smile, but she gave a disgusted scoff and stormed off, hair bristling and shoulders hunched.

The four of them looked at each other, before bursting into laughter.

 

* * *

 

Between Quidditch practice, which Mal had been attending faithfully, even without being a member of the main team, and lessons, which were becoming more and more interesting now they'd managed the basics, Halloween was upon them in no time.

It wasn't easy, balancing everything, especially with friends in Gryffindor. Especially after Ron had accidentally let slip that Harry and Mal were part of the Slytherin Quidditch team. Mal was going to have to _do_ something about the Weasley twins, as ever since they'd found that little nugget of information, they had taken to ambushing him or Harry, trying to alternately bribe or blackmail them into spying on their own team.

Hagrid had been growing pumpkins especially for Halloween, and they were at least half the size of Hagrid's house. The gamekeeper had warmed up to the idea of Harry in Slytherin at least, and now greeted them with a friendly wave and smile when they returned to the castle after Herbology.

And it was to Herbology that they were headed now, where there was a slight scuffle as everyone tried to avoid being paired with Hermione Granger. Unfortunately for Sophie, she was a touch to slow to avoid the pairing.

“Now, everyone we'll be working on repotting some Willow saplings today. Anyone know what Willow is used for?”

Mal edged back as Hermione Granger's hand shot up. A few other hands followed, but Professor Sprout seemed so bemused by Hermione's eagerness, that she let her answer, slightly warily.

“Miss Granger?”

“The bark of the white willow has been used in pain relief for 2,000 years in both Muggle and Magical societies.”

“Very good, Miss Granger, 10 points to Ravenclaw.” Professor Sprout said, smiling faintly at the huge beam on Hermione's face. “Now this shouldn't be too tricky, so you should have plenty of time to get cleaned up before the feast tonight.”

The professor turned away before she could notice the mutinous stares levelled at Hermione from the fellow Ravenclaws. But Professor Sprout, did however, notice that the genius Ravenclaw had forgotten her protective gloves, taking back the points she'd earned. Mal thought her eyes looked oddly bright after the docking, especially as she half tore her bag apart to try and find them.

“I am _so_ glad Granger's not in Slytherin.” Sophie muttered as snuck away from Hermione Granger for a moment, claiming they needed more fertilizer. Mal hid a smile, Hermione's domineering personality the reason no one wanted to work with her.

“As if she'd last five minutes in Slytherin.” Blaise said, voice full of dry amusement.

“Yeah but what'd get her first, her blood-status or her personality?”

“Sophie!” Mal said, trying not to laugh. “She can't be _that_ bad.”

“Are you talking about Hermione Granger?” A dark haired Ravenclaw interrupted and they looked up guiltily. “Don't worry, I won't tell. I'm Michael Corner, by the way.”

“So is she really that bad?” Sophie demanded bluntly, and Michael winced.

“Sometimes.”

They broke off as they caught Hermione looking at them disapprovingly and Sophie slunk back to her shared table shooting Hermione a dark look. Michael's interruption acted as an icebreaker, and he seemed to bear them no ill will for the colour of their robes.

“You're not scared of the big bad Slytherins?” Harry asked, a dark glint in his eye.

“I think it's a flawed concept, actually - there have to be some errors in Sorting. Not to mention I doubt everyone stays true to the same ideals all through their adolescence.”

Mal's respect for Michael increased suddenly, and they spent the rest of the lesson swapping funny stories about their classes, receiving alternately pleading and murderous looks from Sophie, a prisoner under Hermione Granger's stony gaze.

Mal hid a smile at whoop that Sophie let out when Professor Sprout said they could leave early, oblivious to the disgusted sniff of her partner. She barrelled towards them as they left the greenhouse, sighing in melodramatic relief.

“Ugh, I thought that lesson would never end. I think Granger heard me complaining, she was a slave driver the rest of that lesson.”

“Or she was trying to make up for her points loss.” Blaise pointed out.

“It's weird though, isn't it?” Harry asked as they headed back up to the castle. “Hermione doesn't seem like the sort of person who'd just forget something.”

“Actually...I think Mandy hid them” Michael admitted guiltily, “It's what the Ravenclaw girls do if they don't like someone.”

“Serves her right. I’m not surprised nobody likes her.” Sophie muttered, staggering back as Hermione brushed past.

Mal felt a sinking feeling as he glimpsed her face, bottom lip trembling and eyes sparkling with as yet unshed tears.

“I think she heard you.” Harry said quietly beside Mal, his shoulders hunching in a little. Not surprising, Harry hated people picking on someone for being different much to the amusement of some of the Slytherin upper years.

_Though with a family like his, it's exactly surprising..._

“So? Has she even got any friends?”

“Ouch, remind me not to get on your bad side!” Michael said, laughing in shock at her blunt question.

“Ah Michael, you're misinformed, our dear Sophie only has a bad side.”

“Bugger off, Blaise.”

Blaise smiled serenely, even after Sophie shoved him, rolling her eyes.

 

* * *

 

The day of Halloween had been wonderful until Herbology, Harry thought, but now the food tasted bitter with guilt, and he couldn't focus on the amazing spectacle that was the Great Hall at Halloween. The nagging at his conscience didn't even make sense – as Blaise and Sophie had pointed out when they saw his general air of gloom, it hadn't even been him who had said anything. Sophie on the other hand, seemed unfazed by making Hermione cry, and for the first time, Harry felt himself unable to understand his friends.

Beside Harry, Mal stiffened as they overheard Pansy's cackle.

“Did you hear? That filthy mudblood Granger was bawling her eyes out in the loo.”

“Serves her right. If mudbloods can't cope they shouldn't be here in the first place.”

There was a clutter of cutlery, and Harry glanced to his side to see a discomfited looking Sophie, a knife a wand clutched in each hand.

“Leave it, Sophie.” Blaise muttered, and she relaxed. Harry caught her eye and she nodded once; the closest thing to an apology she would give.

“She still not over with the rest of Ravenclaw.” Mal muttered, glancing at that table for the twentieth time in as many minutes.

Harry was beginning to wonder whether they should go and ask Michael if the rumours Pansy was spreading were true, when suddenly, Professor Quirrel burst into the Hall, the noise sending a shooting pain through Harry's forehead.

“Troll in the dungeon!” Professor Quirrel shouted. “Just thought you ought to know.” He collapsed in a dead faint, and the was a split second of silence, followed by an enormous uproar. Only Professor Dumbledore conjuring firecrakers from his wand stopped the bedlam Professor Quirrel's entrance had caused.

“Prefects” Dumbledore called. “lead your houses back to the dormitories immediately!”

Gemma jumped up, marshalling the house into movement.

“If the troll's in the dungeons, then why are they sending us back to the dorms?” Sophie asked, disgruntled.

“The Hufflepuffs don't exactly look too happy either.” said Blaise dryly, nodding his head towards that table.

They were chivvied out of the Hall before they could protest, but there was an undercurrent of unimpressed muttering throughout Slytherin. Harry glanced back and shared a grimace with Ron and Neville, who looked terrified.

“How did a troll get in anyway?” Harry asked, as they waited in the queue to leave the Great Hall, half of the school stuck in the doorway.

“Considering they're supposed to really stupid? Someone probably let it in.”

The four of them shared an uneasy look at the idea. Harry stopped suddenly as a thought occurred to him, an indignant cry coming from behind as he held up the queue.

“What about Hermione?” he asked, eyes wide.

“What about her?”

“She doesn't know about the troll.” Mal added, face paler than normal.

“So we tell a teacher.” Blaise said, rolling his eyes.

“I'm going to look for her.” Harry decided. She should at least get told there was a troll roaming the school.

“Are you out of your mind?” Sophie half screeched.

“Maybe, but it was your fault she's not here.” Harry gave Sophie and Blaise a mulish look, and they sighed in unison.

“Fine, I won't stop you – but I'm telling Professor Snape where you've gone.”

“Give us a head start at least?” Mal piped up and though Blaise and Sophie looked decidedly unhappy at the idea, they promised they would give them at least five minutes before telling a teacher.

Mal lead the way, worming his way through the crowd.

“This isn't the right way, Mal.” Harry pointed out, as the yellow and green trimmed robes gave way to blue and red.

“Detour.” was all he replied, and Harry frowned, then grinned as he saw a familiar red and sandy blond head.

“What are you two doing here?” Ron asked, his grin bemused.

“D'you know Hermione Granger, in Ravenclaw?” Mal asked.

“Yeah, she always nags at me in Charms. Why?”  
“She's gone missing and we're going to look for her, do you want to help?” Harry cut in. Mal had too much of a tendency to be enigmatic because he could, and right now, Harry was pretty sure they needed action, not words.

“But there's a troll on the loose!” Neville exclaimed, looking horrified.

“Kind of the point, Nev, she doesn't know. You in or not?”  
“No way! I’m going back to the Tower.”  
“Suit yourself. Ron?”  
“Do I want to go help you save Granger? Why?”

“You wanted an adventure.” Mal pointed out and Ron looked at him suspiciously.

“Not what I meant, but fine.”

 

They cut back through the crowd, past a confused gaggle of Hufflepuffs, ducked into a deserted side corridor, and towards the girls toilets. Mal froze as he heard footsteps, and the three of them darted behind a statue. They peered around the edge of the griffin, and Mal frowned.

“What's Professor Snape doing here?” Harry whispered. “Why isn't he with the other teachers?”

Mal could think of at least one reason, but surely their head of house wouldn't...no, it was ridiculous. They slipped out of their hiding place, and Mal felt a sinking sensation in his stomach as he saw that Professor Snape was heading for the third floor.

Ron paused, holding his hand up, and Mal groaned inwardly.

“What _now?_ ” he hissed.

“Can you smell something?”

Mal and Harry sniffed, and it was all Mal could do not to retch. A foul smell of old socks and filthy toilets pervaded the air. Mal's eyes widened as he heard the noise that accompanied the smell – a low grunting and the rhythmic shuffling of feet.

“I think we found the troll.” He murmured, voice about an octave higher than normal.

Ron and Harry nodded, equally pale, and Ron looked like he was going to throw up. As silently as the could, they slipped down the corridor, and hurtled through the nearest door, slamming it behind them. The three of them held their breath as they heard the troll pass by on the other side of the door, sliding into a heap on the floor as they heard the noises fade.

Mal groaned as they looked around for something to barricade themselves in with. Of course they'd ended up in the girls bathroom.

“Who's there?” A wobbling voice called from one of the stalls. At least they'd found Hermione Granger.

“Hermione, we need to get out of here!” Harry called, and there was an indignant squeak from inside the stall. The door flew open, revealing an angry Hermione, her eyes red and her hair bristling.

“ _What_ are you doing in the _girls_ bathroom?” she demanded.

“We don't have time for that Granger,” Mal said hurriedly. “We're in danger, there's a troll on the loose.”

“As if I believe that!” Hermione scoffed. “I suppose next you'll be telling me there's an Acromantula in the library!”

“A what?” Harry asked, bewildered and Mal groaned again. Why was she being so stubborn.

“Uh, guys?” Ron's voice sounded shaky, and Mal gasped as he turned to see why.

The troll loomed over them, the smell almost suffocating now. Hermione screamed and scrabbled backwards, but the troll was between them and the door. The troll roared and lumbered forward, slamming his club down on the place where Harry had been standing not a moment before.

“Confuse it!” He yelled, and Mal looked around frantically for something he could use. The troll bellowed again, as Ron through a metal pipe at its head. It headed for him, and Harry ran around the other side. Mal could only watch rooted in terror, when he heard racking sobs from next to him.

Grabbing Hermione, he pulled her to the furthest cubicle from the troll, pulling her into a ball to make a smaller target.

“Just breathe!” He cried as she began to hyperventilate, tears streaming down her cheeks.

The troll seemed to be going berserk, and Mal ducked as a piece of debris sailed over the cubicle wall. He peered round the side of their makeshift shelter and gave an incredulous laugh.

Harry was  _riding_ the troll, arms wrapped around its neck, wand jammed up its nose. The troll was flailing wildly and it was all Harry could do to hold on. Ron looked as terrified as Mal felt, and the Slytherin's resolve hardened. Drawing his wand, he aimed a low level blasting curse towards the troll. It staggered back and Mal swore as Harry nearly fell off. The distraction seemed to have given Ron enough time to recover though, and he whipped his wand out, casting the first spell that came into his head: ' _Wingardium Leviosa!'_

The troll's club soared upwards, then fell, cracking it on the head.

It gave a huge groan before falling forward with an almighty thud.

As the dust settled, Harry got off of the troll's back shaking and out of breath.

“Is it dead?” Hermione was the first to break the silence, as she and Mal came out from the end stall. Ron nudged it with his foot.

“Don't think so -” But whatever the end of Ron's sentence, they never got to hear, as what seemed like every teacher in the school rushed in.

“Dear Merlin!” cried Professor McGonagall as she saw the unconscious troll. “What on earth were you thinking? You're lucky you weren't killed.”

“From what I have heard, Malfoy and Potter went to look for Miss Granger.” said Professor Snape, close behind. “Zabini and Miss Roper informed me that there was a disagreement for which they felt...responsible.”

“They didn't think I should go looking for the troll on my own.”

It took all of Aunt Andromeda's careful teaching for Mal to keep a straight face as Ron dropped his wand. Granger, outright  _lying_ to a  _teacher_ for them?

“Explain yourself, Miss Granger.” Professor Flitwick piped up, looking scandalised that one of his house would claim something so stupid.

“Well, I thought I could deal with it – because I’ve read about them. But, but I was wrong. If they hadn't found me, I'd be dead by now. Ron and Harry attacked the troll and Draco kept us safe. They didn't have time to fetch anyone.”

Professor McGonagall gaped, and even Professor Snape and Professor Flitwick were lost for words.

“Well then, in that case...” Professor McGonagall finally said. “Miss Granger, you foolish girl, how could you think of tackling a mountain troll on your own?”

“And very unlike you.” Professor Flitwick added.

It was all Mal could do not to burst into hysterical laughter as Hermione hung her head. He couldn't believe she was breaking the rules for them. Well, he could, but he;d never thought she would have had it in her.

“I'm afraid that this means points from Ravenclaw,” Professor Flitwick continued. “But I think being attacked by a troll is punishment enough. Run along back to the Tower now, if you're not hurt, Students are finishing the feast in their houses.”

Hermione scurried out, and Mal's heart sunk as the heads of house stared at the three of them, especially the mildly predatory look in Professor Snape's eyes.

“Well it's a miracle none of you were hurt, I must say!” Professor McGonagall said, after a moment of letting them stew.

“And I suppose you had the foresight to at least get your friends to inform a teacher.” Professor Snape ground out, as if it were physically painful for him to admit. “Nevertheless, I hope you will not be so mindlessly _stupid_ in future. Whilst blind bravery may be a mark of Weasley's house,” Mal stifled a snigger as both Ron and McGonagall gave Professor Snape an indignant glare. “I would have thought better of Slytherins. But I suppose you showed a basic level of cunning that does not completely disgrace you. You may have five points each, Potter, Malfoy. You may go.”

They cast a sympathetic look at Ron as they headed out, but he joined them only a minute later, with the same reward.

“Could have given us more than five points each.” Ron muttered.

“They don't want anyone else getting troll hunting ideas into their head, probably.” Mal responded, a grin returning to his face.

“Good of Hermione to cover for us though, wasn't it?” Ron admitted.

“We did save her.” Harry pointed out. Ron laughed, and as they headed back to the Entrance Hall, they saw a familiar robed figure waiting for them.

“Why'd d'you do it?” Mal asked, as they caught up with her. Hermione gave a weak smile.

“Because you came to look for me when no one else would.”

“I wouldn't wish being eaten by a troll on anyone Granger.” Mal paused for a beat, then grinned. “Well, maybe You-Know-Who.”

The four of them laughed, before Hermione blushed, hurrying up to Ravenclaw. Ron sauntered up the stairs after her, leaving Mal and Harry to head back to the Slytherin common room alone.

But from that moment on, Hermione Granger became ally, a friend even. There are some things you can't share without liking someone, and knocking out a twelve foot mountain troll is one of them.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO SORRY. I have had this chapter published on another site for ages and I completely forgot it wasn't published here! I have finished the first draft of my original novel now though, so hopefully updates will be a little more frequent.   
> Feedback is always appreciated ;)


	9. Quidditch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And the canon twisting begins...

“I have no idea how you lot manage to get yourself into such ridiculous situations.” Blaise drawled, but he looked impressed despite himself. They were standing huddled in the shelter of the stone walls of Hogwarts’ courtyard, but despite the liberal application of hats, scarves, and winter cloaks, the wind still whistled through the first years like an icy knife.

“If you got points for it, I might have to start joining in.” Sophie grinned, and Mal looked at her askance. He thought she was probably joking, but you could never really tell with Sophie.

“Hello.” A quiet voice came from behind them, and Mal’s eyebrows raised. A very timid looking Hermione Granger was stood behind them, shoulders hunched and head bowed.

“Hi Hermione,” Harry was the first one to speak. “We were just talking about yesterday.”

Sophie and Blaise automatically looked wary, as they did whenever one of Harry or Mal’s non-Slytherin friends showed up.

“Oh! If you’re busy I can go.” She started away when an acerbic voice stopped her in her tracks.

“Don’t be stupid Granger, we don’t bite.” Hermione looked at Sophie, bewildered, and the fairer girl carried on, rolling her eyes. “I know we haven’t exactly given you reason to like us – or not be scared of us actually,” she admitted. “And I guess I was out of order a little bit yesterday. But I’m willing to swallow my pride if you are?” Sophie arched an eyebrow, and Mal couldn’t help but grin.

“And that’s the closest that Sophie Roper will ever come to giving anyone an apology.” He drawled, a half grin on his face.

“Hey! All right, fair point. So come on Granger, are these idiots telling the truth or are they making themselves sound better than they really are?”

Hermione laughed, and Mal suddenly realised that behind all the hair (and the unfortunate teeth) she actually had the potential to be quite pretty.

“I think I’m going to have disappoint you, Sophie. They were actually pretty impressive.”

“Well that’s no fun at all.” Sophie grimaced in mock-disappointment, and everyone laughed.

And oddly, while before they had received wary looks, two Gryffindors hanging around with three Slytherins, for some reason the presence of a Ravenclaw seemed make those looks vanish. Maybe it was because it wasn’t unheard of for Ravenclaws to have inter-house friendships, or just because it was easier to hide houses in a large group, but now the upper years seemed to ignore them. Blaise didn't seem too happy by the newest addition to their group, but he was always polite, at least. The same couldn't be said for Nott and Parkinson, unfortunately, who made pointed remarks about the 'Mudblood smell rubbing off' on them.

A few days later, Mal perked up as a flutter in the rafter signalled the post. He usually got a letter a week, plus a care package, which he always made sure to share with Harry, Ron and Neville. But this wasn't a letter from Drom and Ted.

_Dear Mal,_

_That sounds insane! _ _How in Merlin’s name did someone get a troll past the wards?!?!  Dad says mum was in hysterics for an hour after they got Professor Snape’s letter. Bad cousin. (Then again he might have been exaggerating a little bit). Are you coming home for the holidays? I just hope that I can get more time off than a measly two days. TWO! Mad-eye keeps threatening to put me on the holiday shift to get ‘some real experience, but I think he’s joking. I hope he’s joking. Then again, it’s Mad-eye :/ ._

_Anyway, you better keep me up to date with your mad shenanigans from now on, even if you’re too chicken to tell mum and dad ;). Having second hand news from your head of house **DOESN’T COUNT**!!! (not cool, cuz) and yes I know you sent a note, but ‘guess who got in a fight with a troll on Halloween’ is not exactly informative. And I thought you were being metaphorical - I mean come on, what are the chances of you meeting an ACTUAL troll?? Also it got here after Snape’s letter so that doesn’t count either._

_Have fun with your new friends. Hermione Granger seems...interesting, although would please explain what 'ridiculously muggle-born' is supposed to mean you horrible child? Annoyingly smart, I get, but what in the name of Merlin's pants is_ 'ridiculously muggle-born' _? Poor girl can't have had easy life with a name like **Hermione**_ _either (honestly, it's nearly as bad as Nymphadora!) Better go now, as Moody is giving me the evil eye. And I mean that pretty literally. Constant Vigilance!_

_Lots of love,_

_Tonks x_

_P.S. Tell mum when you’re coming home for Christmas, if you are. Please come, I need a human shield from dad’s folks xxx_

Mal rolled his eyes as he read the letter from Tonks. Still it was good to hear from her – though she couldn’t talk, she’d barely written to _him_ at all! Then again, Auror trainee versus first year Hogwarts student, she probably did have more work.

“What’s that Mal?” Harry asked, as he snagged the toast. Aunt Dromeda’s Potions, (hidden in the sweets) combined with the Hogwarts food were definitely doing their job, as Harry no longer looked like a green eyed skeleton. He was was still scrawny, but now it was more eleven-year-old-boy-who-hadn't-had-a-growth-spurt-yet-skinny, rather than unhealthily thin.

“Hmm? Oh, letter from Tonks, you can read if you want, it’s not private.” Mal held the letter out to Harry, who took it uncertainly. Mal decided right then and there that he would send Harry a letter as soon as he got home; it hadn’t escaped his notice that Harry never got post.

“Who’s Mad-eye?” Asked Harry, and Mal grinned.

“He’s an Auror, like Tonks is training to be.”

“I thought he’d retired?” Blaise asked, one dark brow furrowed.

“Semi-retired,” Mal admitted. “He’s too paranoid for active duty so they send him in to scare the trainees, like Tonks.”

“Is he scary then?” Harry asked curiously

“Only if you're a dark wizard, Harry,” Blaise teased with an evil grin, and Harry rolled his eyes.

“Shut up Blaise. I wouldn't say scary exactly. Freaky maybe, half his face is missing and he's got a magic eye that’s bright blue and can see through walls and invisibility cloaks.” Mal grinned maniacally, eyes bulging as if to demonstrate. Sadly, Harry looked more amused than impressed, so he carried normally. “Plus he’s really paranoid, sees dark wizards everywhere and only drinks from a hip flask ‘cause he's convinced everyone's trying to poison him.” Mal finished with a nonchalant shrug.

“ _Who_ are you talking about?” Sophie had arrived at the table, Granger in tow. As Blaise filled them in, Mal gave Hermione a friendly smile.

Whether it was their influence, or whether the troll incident had shocked it out of her, Hermione no longer viewed the rules as absolute gospel, and consequently was much nicer for it. Mal was pretty sure Sophie's only motive in befriending the Ravenclaw was to get her do her homework for her, but regardless, Hermione and Sophie had struck an unlikely friendship, and when neither of them were in their common rooms, you would almost always find them in the library, occasionally accompanied by Anthony and Michael.

 

* * *

 

 

Harry, Mal, Blaise and Sophie pelted down the corridor, breath coming in heaving gasps. They skittered around the corner, almost careening into the wall, but the common room lay right ahead.

“Come on, we're already five minutes over curfew and we're dead if we get caught.” Sophie panted.

“Indeed.” The four of them froze as their Head of House stepped from the shadows. “Why are you out so late?” Snape asked, tone biting.

“We were in the library, sir.” Mal spoke up, having got his breath back.

“A likely story, I’m sure.” he sneered and Harry tried desperately not to scoff. Honestly, they were first years, what did he _think_ they'd been up to? “As you are only five minutes after curfew I shall only dock you five points each.”

“But-” Harry started explosively, but a menacing look from Snape stopped him short.

 “I can make it more Potter. If you are foolish enough to get caught, you deserve the consequences. Let there not be a next time.”

Snape swept off down the corridor, leaving four disgusted first-years in his wake.

“Stupid git.” Harry muttered darkly. “Why's he always got it out for me, anyway?”

Sophie shrugged and Mal smiled sympathetically. Blaise on the other hand, looked thoughtful.

“Did you notice he was limping?” Blaise asked. “I wonder what happened?”

“Dunno, but I hope it hurts.” Harry retorted, and the four of them headed into the common room before Filch could show up and dock the _more_ points.

It was all Flint's fault. Somehow, word had got out that Harry was the new Slytherin Seeker. The only good thing about that was that the only people likely to try and sabotage him, or at least get away with doing so, were on his side. All the same, he wasn't sure what was worse – the people who promised they'd have a mattress waiting for him when he fell off, or the people who told him not to worry, as he was sure to win.  But that meant that Flint had decided that Slytherin honour was at stake and if Harry didn't win the game, then he would single-handedly have destroyed Slytherin's pride. No pressure. So he'd decided to implement evening practice almost every night. Which, of course in turn meant that Harry's homework had piled up -including a mile long essay for Snape himself. It was one of the reasons that he was very glad to now list three Ravenclaws among his friends, as between Hermione, Michael and Anthony, he actually had a chance to understand what he was throwing down on his parchment last minute. Not that any of them would let him copy, as 'how will you learn?' (Sophie had _offered_ to let him copy, but she said it whilst smiling in such a way that it made Harry very, very nervous about what the price of copying her work would _be._ ) But because Harry's new friends were Ravenclaws, the only place they could actually work in reasonable sanity was the Library, which was of course, where they'd been before curfew. Which brought Harry back to why it was all Flint's fault.  He shot a dark look at the Quidditch captain as they claimed their usual spot, but the older boy was deep in conversation with Adrian Pucey.

“They look serious.” Sophie said, noticing the direction of Harry's attention. 

“They would be, it's the game tomorrow.”

Harry gulped as he realised Mal was right. Tomorrow was his first Quidditch game, and despite how well he'd been flying in practice, he suddenly had an awful feeling that that wouldn't translate to flying in a real game in front of hundreds of people.

“You all right Harry?” Mal raised his eyebrows in concern, and Harry tried his best to look nonchalant.

“Mmm. I’m great. Why shouldn't I be? I mean, I’ve only got to fly a broom in front of hundreds of people, avoid being clobbered by the Bludgers, which shouldn't be a big deal, I mean it's not the Weasley twins are the best Beaters Hogwarts has ever seen or anything? And then all I’ve got worry about is finding a tin ball with wings that ends the game, no pressure...” Harry trailed off into sheepish silence as he saw the looks his friends were giving him. “What?” he demanded.

“It's OK to be nervous Harry.” Blaise smirked.

“Besides, you fly like you do in practice, you'll be fine. But um, if you did win, that'd be really great.” Mal grinned, a little forced in Harry's opinion, and he scratched the back of his head. Harry's eyes narrowed.

“Why, what did you do?”

“Yeah Mal, what did you do?”

“Not helping, Sophie.” she grinned, and Mal carried on, a slight note of discomfort entering his voice despite his airy manner. “I might have made a small bet with Ron. Just a tiny one.”  
“I don't want to know.” Harry decided. “I'm going to bed.”

 

* * *

 

 

Mal hadn't really bet on Harry to catch the Snitch, but the look on the other boys face had been so worth it. But he did feel guilty in the morning, when Harry looked more like a zombie than anything else.

“Did you get any sleep last night, Potter?” Sophie asked, tutting as she snagged the ketchup from Blaise to put on her scrambled eggs.

“Hey!” Blaise's look of indignation turned to a grimaced as Sophie stuck an egg covered tongue out at him. “That is disgusting.” She grinned. Next to Mal, Harry pushed his food around his plate listlessly.

“You have to eat Harry.” Mal said, gently.

“Malfoy's right Potter.” Pucey sat down next to Harry, slapping him on the back. “Seekers need their strength. Especially today. The Weasley's won't go easy on you because it's your first game.” Harry paled, swallowing.

“No pressure, or anything.” Mal cut in dryly, shooting Adrian a look of exasperation. “He's bricking it.” he mouthed, and realisation dawned on Adrian's face.

“But I’m sure you'll be fine. Fly like you have been in practice and the Gryffindors won't know what hit them.” a mischievous grin flickered over Adrian's face. “Or they won't know what they can't hit?” Harry brightened up visibly even as the rest of the table groaned at the terrible pun. In no time at all breakfast was over and Harry was lost in amongst the other green robed figures. Mal felt a twinge of apprehension on his friend's behalf.

Mal, Sophie and Blaise waited until most of their house had headed down to the pitch, before joining up with the others. They'd decided to sit on the fringes of the Ravenclaw stands where they joined Gryffindor. The Slytherins might look out of place there, but it was probably less stressful than sitting in Slytherin. Well, depending who was winning at least. Hermione and Sophie had got hold of a bed sheet – one Ron's rat had apparently chewed up the first night, and had covered it in pro-Harry slogans. Hermione had charmed it too, so that it flashed different colours. Mal had to admit, while Hermione could be _really_ full-on, she was a stupidly talented witch. The banner got a few dirty looks from some of the older Gryffindors, the ones that only knew Harry by reputation, but it was worth it to see Harry's grin, visible even from across the field.

As the players headed on to the pitch, Mal brought out one of his prize possessions. Next to him, Ron's jaw dropped, a note of longing and jealousy entering his voice.

“Are those Omnioculars?”

“Omni-hoody-has?” Sophie looked over and her eyebrows raised. “Oh right, fancy Quidditch stuff.” She went back to her discussion-argument with the Ravenclaws and Mal rolled his eyes.

“Yes Weasley, they're Omnioculars. And they cost half my pocket money, so if you don't mind not drooling on them...” Mal let just enough of a real grin peek through to let Ron on that he was teasing, and the red-headed boy glowered.

“Git. I bet-”

But whatever he was going to say was cut short by the start of the commentary, and Mal felt his excitement rise.

“Welcome to the first match of the season, between the brave lions of Gryffindor and the sneaky snakes of Slytherin!” Lee Jordan's voice boomed across the stands, grinning unrepentantly at Professor Snape's withering glare. The teams came on to the pitch, Madam Hooch laying down the law with a steely glare.

The game was brutal. The Gryffindors, even the Weasley twins, weren't holding back, and the Slytherin stands echoed with boos as Fred nearly unseated Harry with a particularly nasty Bludger.

“Sorry Harry!” Fred called, just audible over the roar of the crowd

“But all's fair in love and Quidditch!” George quipped.

Harry grinned, and flew higher, and Mal focussed on the action of the game. His frown deepened as Rowle fumbled an easy pass, and he put the Omnioculars down as the pace slowed.

“Hey Mal?” He didn't take his eyes off the game as Sophie piped up.

“Yeah?”

“Can I borrow your Omnioculars?”

“What? Oh come _on_ Rowle, that was an easy pass, GET YOUR HEAD IN THE GAME! Urm, yeah, sure, just be careful.”

“Slytherin in possession. Chaser Pucey ducks two Bludgers, two Weasleys and Chaser Bell, and speeds towards the -wait a moment – was that the Snitch?” Lee Jordan's voice rose in high-pitched excitement as the two Seekers shot towards a glimmer of gold. They were neck and neck, until the Gryffindor Seeker, a second year called McLaggen slammed into Harry and he was sent spiralling of, pulling up with white knuckles in a desperate attempt to hang on.

“Little bit of argy bargy there by McLaggen, the prat, but the Snitch was lost in the confusion – that got you a long way didn't it? And that means _Slytherin_ get the penalty you idiot.”

“Mr Jordan.” McGonagall cleared her throat, glowering at Lee.

Adrian took the penalty, thankfully, and just managed to put it past Wood, though it was a near miss, brushing the Gryffindor Keeper's fingers.  Mal grinned, thankful that Rowle hadn't taken it.

“That wasn't very sporting.” a deep voice rumbled on Ron's other side, and Mal smiled as he saw Hagrid, his approach having been muffled by heckling. “Alrigh’?”

“That's McLaggen.” Ron told him, shrugging as he wrinkled his nose in disgust.

“He's a prat.” Neville piped up, almost surprising himself. “He told me I should join Hufflepuff or leave. And he called me a squib.” Neville’s round face looked pinched.

“You never told me that!” Ron said, indignant on Neville’s behalf.

“Didn't want to bother you.” Neville shrugged, and Mal's eyes narrowed. McLaggen was going to regret picking on _their_ friend.

Suddenly, Hermione squeaked.

“Look at Harry!”

They did. His broom was jerking violently from side, only weeks of training stopping him from plummeting to the ground. Mal gasped, and winced as Sophie gripped his arm, uncomfortably tight.

“It wasn't McLaggen was it?” Hermione asked.

“Can't be,” Hagrid told her. “Takes real powerful magic to interfere with a broom, and he's what, a third year?”

“Second. And he wouldn't do something like that - he's a born git but that's just his personality.” Ron added. Next to Mal, Sophie gasped.

“The teachers’ stand!”

“Give them, Sophie!” Mal practically grabbed the Omnioculars off her, scanning the crowd on the other side of the pitch. Sure enough, there, amongst his shocked colleagues, Professor McGonagall half out of her seat in horror, was an unblinking Professor Snape, muttering under his breath.

“Professor Snape?!”

He described the scene to the other, and immediately Hermione sucked a sharp breath through her teeth.

“It sounds like a jinx.”

“So how do we stop it?!” Ron and Mal demanded, faces fierce. Hermione frowned, chewing her lip as she thought.

“We have to break eye contact, that should stop it.”

A wicked grin lit Sophie's face and Blaise looked at her warily.

“I have an idea, come on Granger.” Sophie pushed her way through the crowd, dragging a startled Hermione behind her. With a sinking feeling in his stomach, Mal turned back to the game. Beside him, Neville was gripping the stand, knuckles white, while Ron looked green.

Harry was still clinging on, but only just. The crowd gasped again as the broom took a heart stopping dive towards the ground, before jolting upwards again. Unable to watch, Mal returned his focus towards the teachers’ stand. An incredulous laugh escaped his throat as he saw smoke rising from the stands, and then burst into hysterics as he realised it was coming from Professor Quirrel’s _robes._

And then, just as abruptly as Harry's broom had gone mad, it stopped. And not a moment too soon, as he was hanging on by his fingertips. Adrian rushed over to help, as did the Weasley twins, their rivalry put aside in order to help the younger player.  And like that, the game was back on. Harry was shaken and pale, but his face was set in determination. The Weasleys were away again the second they realised they'd helped _Slytherins,_ and lobbed two truly nasty Bludgers towards Adrian and Harry, but it was, Mal realised, heart still in his mouth, more to keep up appearances than anything else.

Sophie and Hermione were back, Sophie grinning, Hermione looking shell shocked.

“I'm not sure setting teachers on fire counts as a plan, Sophie.” Mal told her. Hagrid’s mouth twitched behind his beard.

“And I didn't hear or see that.” He told them.

“Oh no, the fire was my idea sure, but Quirrel? That was all Granger.” She shot Hermione a look of admiration. “Who is now my best friend. You got guts, Granger!”

“I-“ Hermione started, and Mal snorted.

“I wouldn't bother, Granger. Besides, better the devil you know, after all?”

“Hey!”

“You can't complain if it's true.” Blaise pointed out, and she punched him on the arm. “Ow!”

“All the same, it’s weird isn’t it?”

“What is?” Neville asked, frowning at Mal.

“First Snape starts limping after Halloween, and now he hexes Harry?”

“What, Sophie?” Mal asked, as he saw her frown.

“It’s probably nothing,” she said, scratching her head. “But, um, when we…went for a walk, Professor Snape lifted his robes to get them away from the fire…and I might have seen his leg.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Hermione demanded, a little put out.

“It was only for a second!” she protested. “But he had a pretty nasty scar - looked like a dog bite maybe?”

“A dog bite?” Mal repeated. “You mean like-“

“Like that three headed monster on the third floor.” Blaise cut in, his usually sullen face alight with interest.

“Fluffy’s no monster.” Hagrid interrupted, looking disgruntled.

“Fluffy!” The first years looked at him in horror.

“You named a slavering hell beast _Fluffy_.” Clearly, the Cerberus had formed a lasting impact on Blaise’s psyche.

“What’s wrong with Fluffy? He might be a bit _boisterous_ , but it’s what you need in a guard dog, innit?”

“So he is guarding something?” Hermione piped up.

“Something that someone, not _necessarily_ Snape is trying to steal.” Sophie chipped in.

“And it might be linked to the Gringotts robbery and your business in Diagon Alley this summer?” Mal suggested.

“Never you mind.” Hagrid told them, attempting a stern look. “What Fluffy’s guarding is between Dumbledore and Nicholas Flamel.”

“So there’s someone called Nicholas Flamel involved is there?” Ron asked, and shared a knowing look with Mal. It seemed that this Quidditch match had been eventful in more than one way. Hagrid blushed – or at least Mal thought he did it was hard to tell under his beard.

“I shouldn’t have said that. I should _not_ have said that.”

And with that, they had to be content, for Hagrid refused to say another word that wasn’t Quidditch related. Mal turned his attention back to the game, just in time to see Harry scoop the Snitch out from under McLaggen’s horrified and obnoxious nose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well...looks like I was wrong...I'm SO sorry! I had my 21st birthday, then moving back to the UK, and editing my novel, but that's not an excuse...though I was without a copy of Philosopher's Stone for the best part of a month which didn't exactly help...  
> Anyway, I hope the crowd scene at the end works, the problem with loads and loads of characters in one scene is that it's pretty hard to work out who's where and what they're doing and saying :/


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY SH*T BALLS I UPDATED! Ahem. Sorry, this chapter really kicked my arse

Spurred on by Harry’s victory on the field, he and the Gryffindor boys attempted to wheedle more information out of Hagrid, but to no avail. Sophie had jokingly suggested spiking his pumpkin juice with Veritaserum – a truth potion apparently, and had been very indignant when Blaise had asked her where she was proposing they acquire it.  
“We could just ask one of the older Ravenclaws you know.” Hermione pointed out, one day at lunch. It was raining outside, and they’d taken shelter in a classroom predominantly occupied by Hufflepuffs. The ‘puffs seemed more accepting of their cross House friendships than the other Houses, and it was a nice respite from the usual wary looks they got.  
“And then what?” Ron asked. “You know what Ravenclaws are like.”  
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Hermione bristled.  
“You don’t mean anything, do you Ron?” Neville threw his housemate a meaningful look. Ron opened his mouth, then shut it again.  
“They’d want to know why you were asking.” Blaise suggested,  
“And then they’d tell a teacher.” Mal pointed out.  
“And no offence Granger, but you’re a crap liar.”  
“Hey!”  
Sophie grinned as Hermione swatted at her, and Harry laughed.  
“Do you really think Snape was the one trying to jinx me?” he asked, distracting Hermione from her attack.  
“I really don’t know. It did look an awful lot like he was though…” Hermione bit her lip  
“And come on, it’s Snape, the greasy git hates Harry.” Ron retorted.  
“You’re only saying that because you’re not in Slytherin.” Mal rolled his eyes.  
“He really isn’t as bad as he was, Ron.” Harry admitted.

And it was true. While Harry highly doubted Snape would ever favour Harry as much as he did some of the other Slytherins – Mal included, it seemed that Harry was treated no worse than any other competent Potions student. And he was far fairer to Harry than he was to poor Neville. It was a far cry from the start of the year, where it had seemed like Harry’s head of house was beating back a snide statement with every breath.  
“Yeah well, I still think it could be him.” Ron muttered, looking mutinous.  
“It’s not as if there aren’t other suspects.” Blaise cut in. “It isn’t even necessarily anyone in the school.”  
Hermione pursed her lips.  
“I suppose you’re right…but all the same, you saw what I did.”  
“Which is why I say it’s Snape!” Ron cut in explosively. “Come on Mal, you can’t think just cause he’s your head of House he can’t be guilty.”  
“Well...You can’t just accuse him because he’s Slytherin, Ron.”  
“How am I? Besides, everyone says he was a Death Eater!”  
“And what’s that got to do with anything? Are you trying to say he’s stealing it for You-Know-Who?”

  
Harry rolled his eyes, and left Mal and Ron to their bickering. Hermione and Blaise would stop them before they got too violent, and they were only rehashing points they gone over seemingly a hundred times by now. He glanced across the table and realised Sophie had tuned out even sooner. Harry nudged her leg with his foot and she looked up, startled.  
“Sorry, didn’t mean to make you jump.”  
“You didn’t” Sophie smirked.  
“What’ve you got there?” Harry asked, pointing curiously to what looked like Mal’s Omnioculars.  
“It’s Mal’s Omnioculars.”  
“Why do you have them?”  
“They were in his bag.”  
“I’m not going to ask.” Harry decided, and Sophie’s grin widened.  
“Probably best. Anyway, in answer to the question I can feel you dying to ask, Hermione got me thinking earlier.”  
“Oh?”  
“You know she said she knew what she saw?” Harry nodded. “Well, I realised I wasn’t actually looking at the match when your broom got jinxed.”  
“What were you doing then?” Harry frowned.  
“I got bored – sorry.” Sophie pulled a face. “Quidditch has never really been my thing. So anyway, I decided to see if I could lip read people on the other side.”  
“And you were looking at the teachers’ stand.” Harry realised, comprehension dawning on his face.  
“Exactly. But here’s the thing – Quirrel looks like he’s muttering too.”  
“You mean like Professor Snape?” Harry asked, and Sophie handed him the Omnioculars. Sure enough, the tiny purple turbaned form of Professor Quirrel was there, just behind Professor Snape, just as unblinking and just as fixated on Harry’s wildly jerking broom.  
“Huh.” Was all Harry could muster.  
“I know right? Anyway, there’s a rewind setting on Omnioculars, but it’s not. Going. Back. Far. Enough!” Sophie punctuated her last few words with a thump to the Omnioculars. She froze as she realised Mal was looking at her in indignant horror.  
“When did I say you could borrow my Omnioculars you evil cow?!”  
“Oops?”

  
Harry burst out laughing as Sophie fled from the room, a furious Mal on her tail.  
“What was all that about?” Hermione wanted to know. Harry explained, and an odd look of respect mixed with irritation crossed over Hermione’s face.  
“What?” Ron was as nonplussed as Harry.  
“I suppose none of you know how jinxes work?” Hermione rolled her eyes.  
“Eye contact and an incantation, isn’t it?” Blaise suggested. “We don’t learn about them until third year Granger.”  
“Well I’m sorry for reading ahead.” Ron snorted, though quietly enough that Hermione couldn’t hear him. “Anyway.” she continued, “Yes Blaise, you do need eye contact – constant eye contact in fact. You said Professor Quirrel looked like he was trying to do a jinx as well Harry?”  
Harry nodded, and Blaise’s eye’s narrowed.  
“That would mean that either Professor Snape or Quirrel was trying to do a counter jinx…”  
“But I couldn’t get the bloody things to go back far enough.” Sophie slid in to the chair next to Hermione, as Mal fell in to the one next to Ron. He scowled at Sophie as he clutched his Omnioculars protectively.  
“But if you could see who started the jinx…” Harry paled.  
“Then we could who was trying to kill you, yeah.” Mal muttered.  
“Hang on a minute,” Ron interjected. “What has someone trying to kill Harry got to do with Flamel and ‘Fluffy’?” He sketched quote marks in the air. “No offence, Harry.”  
“Some taken.”  
“So we work out who wants to kill Harry.” Hermione said, in such a matter of fact manner Harry gave her a wary glance. She blushed, before continuing. “And why.”  
“Who doesn’t?” Mal raised an eyebrow, and Harry frowned.  
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he demanded.  
“Have you been living under rock?” Blaise didn’t try to hide his smirk.  
“My aunt and uncles’ may as well have been.” Harry muttered. Blaise ignored him.  
“Well, aside from the Dark Lord’s followers - like Nott’s father, who were influential enough in the Ministry to avoid Azakaban?”  
“Azakaban?” Harry, and to his surprise Hermione asked.  
“Not such a know-it-all after all Granger?”  
“Oh shut up.”  
“It’s a wizard prison.” Neville spoke up, startling Harry slightly. The other boy was usually so quiet it was easy to forget he was there. “It’s guarded by dark creatures, and most of You-Know-Who’s followers are locked up there – the ones they caught, anyway.”  
Harry didn’t miss the sympathetic smile that Mal threw Neville - or the grateful nod Mal received in return. There was story there, Harry was sure of it, but it was none of his business.  
“Anyway” Blaise continued, “Since Harry got sorted into Slytherin, there are just as many so-called good people who probably wouldn’t cry too much if Harry got killed.”  
“You mean the nut-jobs who were convinced that because Harry managed to kill You-Know –Who because he was a dark wizard in nappies?” Ron scoffed.  
Harry felt vaguely sick. He was just a kid, and yet people were trying to kill him. If he’d had a normal childhood, he thought he would probably want to go home right about then. But as it was, Hogwarts was the closest thing to a home he had. He had to work out who was ruining the first good thing he’d had and make them go away.  
“You’ve gone green.” Sophie remarked, with a ghoulish interest.  
“I wonder why? Could it possibly be because of all the talk about people who want to kill me?” He glared at her.  
“It could just be a coincidence.” Neville suggested, and in return received four very pitying glances.  
“Tonks says there’s no such thing as coincidences…”  
“Yeah? Does she say that, or does Mad-eye Moody say that? She’s only a trainee you know.” Ron rolled his eyes. To be fair, Harry couldn’t exactly blame him. Yes, Tonks sounded cool, but Mal did seem to stat every other sentence with ‘Tonks said…’ or ‘my cousin did that’. For a moment, it looked as though wands were going to be drawn, before Hermione stepped in.  
“This is hardly productive, you know. Bickering isn’t going to solve anything, and since you refuse to do the sane thing and actually ask someone staying on topic might be useful.”  
“Yes master.” Sophie muttered under her breath, but at least it stopped Ron and Mal from fighting, even if they did keep glowering at each other behind Hermione’s back.  
“In any case, it’s useless arguing until we know who Flamel is.” Blaise pointed out, and Hermione nodded unhappily.  
“Excuse me?” They looked up to themselves alone in the room apart from a Hufflepuff first year girl with a blonde pigtails. “You might want to get to lessons, else you’re going to be very late.”  
Hermione gave a strangled yelp and dashed for the door, Sophie and Blaise sauntering after her.  
“Thanks Hannah.” Neville smiled at her, fumbling to put things in his bag. She smiled back, pink cheeks dimpling, and soon only Harry and Mal were left in the classroom.  
“Look, I’m going home at Christmas,” Mal told Harry as they headed to transfiguration. “I’ll ask Tonks then – she won’t tell, I swear.”  
“And in the meantime, someone's trying to kill me and we've no idea who or why. Wonderful.” Muttered Harry, suddenly miserable.  
“Come on,” Mal said, with as much empathy as an eleven year old boy could muster. “McGonagall will kill us if we’re late again.

 

* * *

 

“I had an idea.”  
“Um, hi Hermione?” Harry shared a quizzical look with Mal.  
“What is that Mudblood doing here?” Pansy demanded. “Are you trying to put me off my dinner, because you’re certainly succeeding.”  
Blaise put a warning arm over Sophie’s suddenly clenched fist.  
“There’s no rules that say she can’t be here Pansy.” Mal smiled at her, but it was the sort of smile that promised future unpleasantness if she didn’t shut up right there and then. Pansy gave a haughty sniff and flounced off to sit further down the Slytherin table, shooting them contemptuous sneers the whole way. Nott and Crabbe followed suite, while Tracey and Daphne stayed, though they edged further away.  
“What was your idea, Granger?” Sophie asked, expectant.  
“Cine cameras.”  
“Sorry, what?” Blaise looked utterly nonplussed.  
“What about ‘em?” Sophie leant forward, propping her chin in her hand.  
“Cine cameras have a full playback function, so why couldn't the Omnioculars? They've obviously got some recording ability or we wouldn't have been able to see the replay, right?”  
“Shouldn’t Ron and Nev here this?” Mal asked.  
“Don’t even think about bringing Gryffindors over here.” Tracey interrupted them, a haughty look on her face. Harry rolled his eyes.  
“What, scared they’ll infect you?” he asked. “C’mon, let’s get away from people who don’t seem to understand the idea of private conversations.”  
Mal sniggered, before waving to Ron and Neville. They headed out of the hall, concealing themselves in a convenient alcove opposite the house counters.  
“What is it? This had better be good, I wasn’t finished eating!”  
“Honestly all you think about is food.” Hermione huffed, rolling her eyes.  
“It’s not, actually. And I was half way through my treacle tart – there won’t be any left by the time I get back.”  
“Priorities, Ronald. This is actually important.” Mal smirked. “At least, I think it is.” He added, glancing askance at Hermione.  
“Yes, what actually is a cine camera?” Blaise asked, reluctant to admit his ignorance.  
“Well, it’s a video camera, it doesn’t just take pictures –it captures full events and sound, not just snatches like Wizard photos.”  
“Dudley got one for his birthday this year.” Harry added. “He broke it before the summer holidays. His birthday’s the end of June.”  
Mal grimaced.  
“Sounds like a real wonder.”  
“Can we please focus?!” Hermione demanded impatiently. “Why can’t we just rewind the Omnioculars? None of the books I’ve read say it’s impossible, but they don’t actually say how!” Hermione’s rose in frustration. A contemplative silence settled over the group.  
“Well…” Blaise eventually said. “I suppose it is technically possible... but those are really complicated charms, sixth year or higher, at least.”  
“Of course they are.” Nothing could ever be easy, Harry thought. Mal tilted his head, and you could almost see gears turning.  
“What about the twins?” he asked, and Ron laughed.  
“Fred and George? Even they aren’t that good.”  
“Not what I meant, but good to know.” Mal smirked at Ron. “Why don’t we ask them to ask an upper school Ravenclaw if they can? We don’t have to tell them why – or at least the twins wouldn’t have to tell them why and then that way we get plausible deniability?”  
“And the sixth and seventh years are more likely listen to the Weasley twins than they are a bunch of snotty first years.” Sophie added, a diabolical grin spreading across her face. “I like it.”  
“Well, if you can convince the twins, I don’t see why not.” Ron said, giving a begrudging nod.  
“Well, I suppose it could work…” Hermione conceded.  
“Just to check, what does plausible deniability mean?” Neville asked.  
“It means if this goes tits up we had nothing to do with it.” Sophie said dryly. Harry snorted.  
“Then I’m in too,” Neville decided.  
“If it means we find out who’s trying to kill me? Duh…” Harry said in a tone that suggested the listener was incredibly dim.  
“Oh what the hell.” Blaise quirked an eyebrow. “We’ve already come this far…”

* * *

 

In the end, they decided that the best time would be to ask the twins after Quidditch practice. And as luck would have it, the Slytherin practice followed the Gryffindors’ on the last Saturday in November. Since Harry and Mal had a habit of turning up early to practice without supervision, it wouldn’t look as suspicious to the rest of their own team if they were there early. The Gryffindors on the other hand, might not take too kindly to two Slytherins anywhere near their practice; accusations of spying had already been thrown around at least once that term already.  
Which was why Harry and Mal were currently sheltering in a rhododendron bush near the changing rooms. Harry shivered as the bitter wind cut through him, and he pulled his cloak tighter  
“They better not take much longer. I can’t feel my toes.” Mal muttered, through chattering teeth.  
“This is where Hermione’s flame in a jar trick would come in handy.” Harry agreed, stamping his feet in an attempt to get some feeling back into them.  
“’Cept I think someone might just notice that.” Mal rolled his eyes, then stiffened as he caught a glimpse of movement. They edged further out, only to squash a groan as the red scarved figures turned out to be the Gryffindor chasers: Bell, Johnson and Spinnet.  
Thankfully for the future of Harry and Mal’s extremities, the twins were the next ones out.  
It was however, Harry reflected, very difficult to appear nonchalant when walking out of a rhododendron bush. He was also fairly certain that there was a spider in his hair.  
“Fred! George!” Mal exclaimed, in a voice that sounded far too hearty. “What a coincidence!”  
Two sets of identical eyebrows rose simultaneously.  
“Draco. Harry.”  
“Interesting how a coincidence could make you look as if you’d been dragged through a hedge backwards.” One of the twins, Harry thought it was Fred, remarked, in a dry tone.  
“Especially when the Slytherin Quidditch practice isn’t for another two hours.” George, or possibly Fred, agreed.  
“Yes it’s very strange…especially when I seem to remember you having a temper tantrum when you were five about getting mud in your hair Draco.” The twins sniggered as Mal turned a vivid shade of pink. “So I would’ve thought that you’d far rather be back up in the nice dry castle.”  
“So what are the two of you after?”  
Harry was beginning to wonder whether the Sorting Hat had chosen the right house for the Weasley twins.  
“Alright fine. We need your help.”  
Two sets of brown eyes lit up in wicked glee.  
“What is it you’re after young Malfoy?”  
“A prank perhaps?”  
“An indirect act of revenge?”  
“Nothing like that.” Harry said, having to hide a grin. The twins looked disappointed. “We just need you to convince someone to do something for us.”  
“Riiight.”  
“That doesn’t sound suspicious at all.”  
“We need someone to ask any of the upper years if they can figure out how to rewind a pair of Omnioculars back far enough.”  
“So much for a step at a time.” Mal rolled his eyes, and Harry flicked him a two fingered salute.  
“Rewind a pair of Omnioculars?” George said thoughtfully. “I suppose it’s possible.”  
“Can see why you’d want a Ravenclaw though – less likely to ask questions.”  
“But why bring it to us?” George asked. “Why not just ask them yourself?”  
“Cause no offence, but we don’t give Slytherin’s access to our services for free, regardless of how well we know them.” Fred grinned.  
“Why am I not surprised?” Mal muttered. Harry shot a questioning look at him, and Mal nodded.  
“It’s to do with our last game.” Harry told them. “When my broom went crazy – we think I was jinxed.”  
The twins gave out a low whistle.  
“That was a nasty piece of business.” Fred gave a long sigh. “We were impressed you managed to stay on, to be honest.”  
“Don’t let Wood know mind,” George added hurriedly. “We’d never live it down.”  
“Yeah, can’t respect the enemy.”  
“So anyway…” Mal gave the twins a meaningful look. “You can see why we don’t want to go around asking every Ravenclaw past OWL level if they can help us.”  
“So you’re not telling whoever jinxed Harry that you’re onto them.” Fred gave an impressed nod. “Sneaky.”  
“We are Slytherins.” Harry pointed out. “It’s not always a bad thing.”  
Fred and George gave matching sheepish grins. They turned away for a moment, then turned back to Harry and Mal.  
“Alright, we’ll help.” Fred told them.  
“Never can resist a challenge.” George grinned.  
“Not to mention the pranking possibilities if this works out.”  
“You’re not keeping my Omnioculars!” Mal protested. The twins sniggered at the indignant look on Mal’s face.  
“What if that’s our payment?”  
“Anything but that. They were a birthday present.” Mal insisted, mulishly.  
Harry winced at the evil smirks that split the twins’ faces at Mal’s words.  
“Fine then.” George told him. “You can owe us a favour.”  
“That’s it?” Harry asked, suspicious.  
“A favour to be redeemed at any point in the future. Anything we need help with, you owe us.” George clarified.  
Mal and Harry shared a slightly nauseous look.  
“Don’t worry, it won’t be anything illegal.” Fred added.  
“Too illegal.” George muttered.  
“What the hell are you two doing here?” An irritated voice with a cut glass accent came from behind Harry and Mal. Harry glanced back to see a scowling Adrian Pucey, arms crossed.  
“We were just leaving.” Fred told Adrian, airily.  
“Make sure you do.”

“What was all that about?” Adrian demanded, the second the twins had left. Harry shrugged, and he and Mal headed for the changing rooms. Adrian followed, muttering suspiciously under his breath.

* * *

 

The twins ambushed Harry and his friends almost the second they left the Great Hall after dinner. Neville leapt about half a foot in the air as Ron swore, Hermione squeaked and Sophie went for her wand. The twins, for their part, seemed to be highly amused in their abilities to scare first years out of their skins.  
“Merlin’s arse!” Ron hissed at the twins. “Are you trying to kill us?”  
Fred snorted.  
“Aww, did we give ickle Ronniekins a fright?” George cooed, and Ron’s ears turned beetroot red.  
“Piss off!”  
Blaise cleared his throat, and the three Weasleys looked at him.  
“As amusing as this is…” he said. “What do you want?”  
“Honestly, so rude.” Fred tutted. “And after all our help.”  
“I know, the youth today…”  
“Seriously?” Sophie demanded. “Don’t make me hex you.”  
The twins gave Sophie a once over and decided she probably wasn’t bluffing.  
“Fiiiiine. Jeez, suck the fun out of everything.” Fred rolled his eyes.  
“Harry’s life could be at stake!” Hermione reminded them, eyes wide with intensity.  
“Ok, ok. We found you a Ravenclaw who’ll help.”  
Harry let out a shaky laugh.  
“What did you tell him?” Mal asked, curiously.  
“Ah we said we had a bet going.”  
“Who hit the most Bludgers last game, that sort of thing.”  
“And he believed that?” Ron’s voice was sceptical, to say the least. Fred and George looked away, Fred rubbing the back of his neck. “Of course not.”  
“Well no...” George admitted. “But he was willing to not ask questions if he receives a generous donation to his Hogsmeade funds…”  
“We’re not resorting to bribery!” Hermione protested, but the Slytherins ignored her, looking at one another in resignation.  
“How much?” Mal asked.  
“He asked for 25 Galleons.” Fred told them, flatly.  
“How much?” Ron spluttered.  
“But we talked him down to 12! You’re welcome, by the way.”  
“I don’t have that sort of money!” Ron was saying, and the twins rolled their eyes.  
“We know!” they chorused.  
“I do though.” Neville said, quietly. “I haven’t got much to spend it on anyway.”  
“No, that’s not fair.” Harry told him. “It’s my neck on the line.”  
“How about we all chip in?” Mal suggested. “That way no one person suffers.”

The rest of the group turned to look at him, expressions a mixture of bemusement and amusement. “What?” he demanded. “Being fair is important, ok? Uncle Ted says, anyway…” he trailed off, embarrassed.  
“Well, we don’t really care who pays, as long as you do.” Fred said, matter of fact.  
“Later, children.” George told them, and with that, they disappeared down the hallway.  
Harry could feel his smile growing. Yes, someone may have been trying to kill him, and yes, there was a murder dog guarding something potentially terrifying on the third floor, but for the first time, it seemed like things were actually going their way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Time: Tonks! Christmas! Plot!  
> Remember, all writers are attention whores at heart, so feedback is greatly appreciated :) <3


	11. Plans and Schemes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Harry reveals a little more than he'd meant to, Mal's Hufflepuff and Slytherin sides come out to play, Neville actually speaks and Sophie and Blaise plot hypothetical murder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...Um...I'm not dead? *Waves sheepishly* I'm am HUGELY sorry for the delay, I had every intention of getting this written over the Christmas break but my computer died on Boxing Day, plus we had a power cut cause of the floods, I was super ill and had four pieces of Uni work to for the first week back, plus my dissertation presentation BLEUGH. I currently have no spell check on my computer, so apologies in advance for typos etc. Also, this chapter had to be split because I had another 2325 words of a nowhere near finished chapter. I hope it was worth the wait.

It seemed as if no time at all had passed before Christmas was upon them, what with Quidditch and work. They woke one morning in mid-December to find the grounds covered in half a foot of snow, much to Blaise's horror and Sophie's delight. The lake froze solid, and a few of the older Slytherins had snuck out to skate at midnight. That was nothing compared to the Weasley twins though, who had been severely punished for enchanting snowballs to follow Professor Quirrell around at hit him in the back of the turban.

Mal couldn't really bring himself to feel too sorry for the Professor. After all, he was a suspect now. As for the snow, Mal didn't mind it per se, it was the icy cold meltwater that inevitably seeped into your boot that he hated, and was quite happy to spend his time indoors as much as possible. But whilst Hogwarts was a magical place full of wonder, it was still an ancient castle in the north of Scotland. As such, icy draughts managed to sneak in everywhere. It was one of the worst things about having a common room and dormitories in the dungeons; even with blazing fires in every room, it was bitterly cold and getting out of bed in the mornings seemed to have turned into a particularly creative form of torture. Harry had perfected the knack of getting dressed in bed, and Mal was getting there, but even so, he would wake up in the middle of the night unable to feel his cheeks or nose.

"I can't wait to go home for Christmas" Nott said, the day the sign-up sheet for those staying over the holidays had gone up. "Father says it should be our best Christmas in years."

Next to Nott Pansy Parkinson gave Harry and Blaise a snide look.

"Come on Theo, that's hardly fair. Think of poor orphans like Potter who have nowhere to go."

Mal glanced at Harry, but to his surprise, saw that he seemed to be more amused than offended.

_Then again, considering what he's said about his relatives._

Nott wasn't the only one who had picked up on Harry's lack of plans. Cormac McLaggen, who had taken an intense dislike to Harry after his defeat on the Quidditch pitch, had taken to making incredibly loud holiday plans whenever Harry was in earshot. Complete with meaningful glances and smirks every few seconds. Then again, it wasn't as if Gryffindor had ever been known for their subtlety, Mal reflected.

"What are you all doing for Christmas?" Hermione asked, as they gathered for their regular study session in the Library. Well officially that's what it was, but really it was more of a chance to meet and talk with minimal supervision. Which was all very well, until somebody, (usually Ron or Sophie) got carried away and Madam Pince kicked them out. It was still warmer than the Slytherin common room though.

 _If only there was somewhere we could meet without having to worry about upper years or Madam Pince…_ Mal pondered. Maybe he could ask the Weasley twins.

"I'm staying here." Ron announced. "Mum and Dad are off to see Charlie in Romania. It's just a shame they couldn't take Percy with them." He added gloomily.

Everyone laughed, though Mal couldn't help but feel slightly guilty.

"I'm staying too." Announced Blaise. "Mother is going on a cruise with husband number 5, so she'll probably be in the lookout for number 6 by Easter."

Even Sophie looked concerned at Blaise's blasé prediction, and Harry and Ron shared a disturbed grimace.

"I wish I was staying." Neville admitted. "It'll be me on my own with all my great aunts and uncles who'll coo about how big I've got and how much I look like my mum. And great aunt Mildred will get drunk and pinch my cheek."

Mal bit his cheek to supress a snort of laughter, and it looked like Hermione was doing the same, trying to hide it with an interested nod.

"I feel your pain." Sophie told Neville. "I'm going down to my Grandparents and all my French relatives will be coming over – the pureblood ones. So _that_ should be fun." She with a saccharine smile, not even bothering to mask her sarcasm.

"Do you not like them Sophie?" Hermione asked.

"Ehhh…the Bissets are ok. Estelle's nice and Jean's ok but Jacques's a lot older than me." Sophie sighed heavily. "But the Roche's are a nightmare. Sarah's only three years older than me, but she's always like: 'At Beauxbatons we do this! This is much better in France!' And Robin's the baby so he's a spoilt brat. Ils me rendent completement folle!" she finished dramatically and Harry raised his eyebrows.

"I didn't know you spoke French." he said, and Sophie grinned.

"Tu m'as jamais demandée" she retorted.

Mal threw a crumpled ball of parchment at her as Blaise groaned.

Hermione was smiling warily as if she thought she'd understood, while Ron, Neville and Harry seemed equally nonplussed.

"What did she say?" Harry asked.

"You never asked." Blaise told him, eyeing a very satisfied looking Sophie with disgust.

"Wait you _both_ speak French?" Harry looked between the two of them.

"Me too." Mal admitted and Hermione raised her eyebrows.

"Is that a pureblood thing?" she asked. "Only some of the upper year Ravenclaws speak French when they don't want the first years to understand."

" _I_ don't speak French." Ron pointed out. "Nor does Neville."

"Actually…Gran tried to get me to learn." Neville said, blushing.

"Why am I always the last to know?" Ron demanded

"Anyway…" Mal cut in ignoring Ron's ceilingwards gesturing. "Yeah, it's pretty much a pure blood thing. Really old fashioned, but there you go.

"Plus husband number three was French." Blaise muttered.

"And Aunt Drom said I should learn because the Malfoy's were actually Norman, and it's therefore in my blood, apparently."

"What, like a thousand years ago?" Ron scoffed and Mal rolled his eyes, taking a breath to tell him exactly where to go.

"Don't worry Harry," Sophie cut across Mal. "We'll teach you and then you can swear at McLaggen in French."

Harry laughed.

"What are you doing for the holidays then, Hermione, since you were the one that asked?" Sophie continued.

"Not much. I expect it'll be just my parents and me. We might be going to visit my Grandparents for New Year's though."

"Ah cool."

"And of course we don't need to ask Mal what he's doing." Blaise chipped it, shooting his friend a wry glance.

Mal grinned, feeling guilty. He'd barely shut up about Christmas since the first of the trees had gone up, which was when a very bedraggled owl had arrived with an equally crumpled letter:

_HI MAL!_

_I GOT CHRISTMAS OFF! (dances round the flat happily) Even better, I got the week before Christmas off. I'm kinda suspicious since Mad Eye is never this nice and I'll probably have to make up by doing something horrific D: but it'll be worth it. Independence is nice and all, but dad's homecooked dinners are 5 million times better than leftover chilli for the fifth time in a week._

_Mum and dad are both working most of the week before Crimbo, so I'm gonna be picking you up from the station – I'll nip back home with your trunk, and then I figured we could go Xmas shopping for mum and dad's presents. I haven't had a chance to even think about that sort of stuff yet, and I figure it's not like you can go to Hogsmeade yet. (you poor unfortunate firstie ;P ) Plus, I happen to know for a fact that Fortescue's have got a festive Sundae on the cards and I WANT._

_Since mum and dad are gonna be busy, I figure you may want to make PLANS_

_I finally managed to track down all of the Star Wars trilogy on VCR as well, since I haven't seen them in ages and we FINALLY got the TV in the flat working and Nikki managed to pinch her mum and dads video player, so I'm thinking we spend a day watching those._

_Plus there's this film called the Addams Family coming out on the 13_ _th_ _of December and it looks pretty cool so thats also a possibilty._

_BUT BEST OF ALL_

_The Tornadoes are playing the Harpies on the 19_ _th_ _and since David in the DMGS owes me a favour I got us two tickets in the top box, natch. It'll be abso frikking lutely bloody freezing but since its the Harpies (and your crummy Tornadoes) it'll be worth it!_

_The rest of the time you can do what you want but bear in mind mum said I kinda had to keep an eye on you and blowing stuff up is definitely not on the cards after the Christmas '87 incident!_

_And then what with all that non parentally supervised time you can tell me about all your rule breaking without mum and dad grounding you for it..._

_See you soon, your most awesome and favourite cousin x_

"Yeah, it should be fun – I haven't see a Quidditch game in ages, and Tonks gets super excited about Christmas, which uncle Ted thinks is hilarious, but it drives Aunt Drom mad. The tree battle should be fun this year as well – since Tonks actually has money."

"Christmas tree battle?" Hermione asked, voice wary. Ron sniggered.

"Mal's uncle and aunt have serious different tastes when it come to Christmas."

Mal nodded, grinning.

"Aunt Drom likes traditional stuff, you know, a little bit of tinsel in silver and gold, some lights, a nativity scene, but Uncle Ted loves tacky novelty decorations, like laughing Father Christmases, and really bright loud tinsel and baubles and stuff, decked to the rafters. So every year they have this silent battle over which style wins, and since Tonks gets paid for Auror training, I want know whether she'll side with aunt Drom or uncle Ted."

* * *

"I still don't get it." Harry told them.

"Well, some years she sides with her mum, sometimes with her dad, it depends. And every year we by a couple of new ornaments for the tree. I'm kind of hoping she's gonna buy some huge massive tacky ugly thing, and then Aunt Drom won't be able to say anything if she's bought it herself, and she hates Christmas arguments."

"Your family is weird." Harry told him, shaking his head.

"That's family at Christmas."

Harry gave Mal a half smile.

"I wouldn't really know. I never really had Christmas with the Dursleys. This year looks like it'll actually be the best I've had, well, ever." There was a stunned silence. "What?"

"You've _never done Christmas?_ " Hermione's voice rose in incredulity.

"Not really...The Dursleys used to go off and leave me on my own sometimes though, that was good – they never noticed if I made a sandwich from the leftovers."

Harry felt his skin itch in embarrassment as he realised his friends were still looking at him in stunned disbelief.

"You've never had _presents?"_ Blaise added.

"I got a coathanger last year?"

"A coathanger?!" Sophie and Mal spoke as one.

"You've never stuffed yourself stupid on Christmas dinner and chocolates?" Ron's face was horror stricken.

"No..."

"Or gone for a Boxing day walk?" Mal added

"No..."

"Or nearly set fire to your house trying to roast chestnuts when everyone was asleep in front of the telly?"

The laughter broke the awkardness as Sophie made her contribution.

"I can happily say that I hgave never done that," drawled Blaise, lazily.

"Well you haven't lived." she sniffed, tossing her hair. "Harry?"

"Well no, I mean it's not like the Dursleys have a fire but – look, can you all stop looking at me like that?" he was beginning to feel irritated with thegazes of pity and bewilderment aimed his way. Yes, the Dursleys had been neglectful, cruel and outright horrid, but it wasn't like they'd ever hit him. Besides, he wasn't their son, and to be honest, he'd rather be treated like dirt on their shoe than be spoilt stupid like Dudley was.

"Sorry Harry." Neville said quietly, and as their eyes met, Harry thought he saw a glimpse of understanding there. The others murmured in agreement, not meeting Harry's gaze. Abruptly, Mal stood up, nearly knocking over his chair.

"Back in a bit."

"What was all that about?" Hermione demanded.

* * *

Mal raced up the stairs to the Owlery, unrolling the scrap of parchment he'd snagged from the table when he'd left the library, as he reached the Owlery doors, he grabbed a quill from his inner robe pocket and the tiny bottle of ink he kept there for emergencies. Muttering under his breath, he wrote:

_Dear Aunt Andromeda and Uncle Ted,_

_Would it be ok to go back to Hogwarts after Boxing Day/before New Years? Only I just found out that Harry has never had Christmas before and said that Christmas at Hogwarts will be the best one he ever had. And as that's complete_ here a word was hastily scribbled out _**RUBBISH**_ _I was kind of wondering if I could get him a better present than just a load of Chocolate Frog to make up for 10 years of NO something Quidditch related._

_Love, Draco_

_P.S. On a hypothetical and unrelated note, what would happen if someone sent a lot of Dungbombs to a Muggle house?_

By the time Mal returned to the library all of the others, bar Neville and Harry had gone. They were both engrossed in seperate tasks, but looked up when Mal came in.

"Where'd everyone go?" he asked.

"Ron went back to the common room just after you left, Hermione was meeting Anthony and Sophie and Blaise left about five minutes ago, looking like they were plotting something."

"Thanks Nev." Mal smiled awkwardly.

"Do you think you can look over my Potions essay? Hermione said she'd have a look, but I think she got sidetracked looking for Flamel again."

"Sure." Mal dropped into the seat next to Neville's, scanning his parchment for mistakes.

"Why my Wiggenweld Potion failed..." Mal read to himself. "Ok, salamander blood...potion turned turquoise – ah here. You missed a step."

"I did?"

"Yeah, it goes five lionfish spines, heat until the potion turns yellow, add five more lionfish spines _then_ add the flobberworm mucus."

"Ohhh, that makes more sense. Thanks Mal!" Neville gave a relieved sigh.

"No problem – and what does Moly do again?"

"Prevents enchantments when eaten."

"Great."

"It's not that weird is it?" Harry asked suddenly, Mal and Neville turned to look at him, but Harry was determinedly avoiding their gaze.

"Huh?" Mal and Neville wore identical looks of confusion.

"The way the Dursleys treat me? It's not like they _had_ to take me in, they could have just left me at I dunno, an orphanage or something."

Mal thought that it was lucky that Harry had waited until the others had left to ask this question. He and Neville were perhaps the only two of their friends who could really be qualified to give an answer. Sophie and Blaise would be glib, and while Hermione and Ron might mean well, they could never comprehend what Harry had gone through. But Mal and Neville, with their family history just might.

He felt a sudden surge of hate towards Harry's relatives. Their situations were so similar, and yet Andromeda, who'd had every reason to hate him and what he represented, had raised him as her own, and he'd never ever felt less loved than Tonks. But Harry, a saviour of the wizarding world had been mistreated by his own, stupid, ignorant Muggle relatives. _The Tonks' aren't like that,_ a small voice reminded him before he got carried away. _They might not understand magic all that well, but at least they try. And Uncle Ted loves them..._

"Is it?" Harry repeated, and Mal blinked stupidly as he realised the other Slytherin was looking for an answer.

"It's not normal." Neville said, quietly. "Just because they're not your mum and dad doesn't mean they should treat you like that."

Mal nodded, glad Neville had managed to put it into words.

"My uncle and aunt have never treated me any different than Tonks. I mean, they never tried to force me into a pink frilly dress, but other than that, i've always just been a part of the family I guess?" Mal shrugged. "The Dursleys are arseholes who need to take a long walk off a short cliff, preferably one with lots of sharp rocks near Azkaban. Besides, Aunt Drom always says its the family you choose, not the one you're stuck with a birth that's most important."

"The Dursleys are bastards. " Neville agreed, taking himself as well as the other two boys by surprise. Harry lauhged.

"Thanks. I've always known they were gits, really, but they were all I'd ever known til a couple of months ago" he frowned. "I really don't want to back at the end of the year."

"Well we'll deal with that when it happens." Mal smirked. "Anyway it's nearly Christmas! There's a parcel of Christmas goodies back in the dorms that've been waiting to be eaten since this morning."

"I should be getting back to the common room before curfew." Neville said, packing his finished homework into his bag.

"See you later Nev."

"Bye Mal, Harry."

Harry and Mal walked back to the common room in silence, both deep in a similar train of thought. Mal shivered as a particularly icy blast whistled through the castle, pulling his robe tighter. As they walked through the common room entrance, they immediately spotted Sophie and Blaise near the fireplace, heads together. They stopped as soon as they saw Harry, which immediately made Mal suspicious.

"What are you two up to?" he asked, not sure whether he wanted to know the answer.

"Plotting." Sophie told them, airily. "Murder may have been discussed."

"Hypothetically." Blaise added. "Hypothetical murder for a good cause."

"Riiiiight." Harry's eyes were wide.

"Are you sure you're supposed to be in Slytherin Harry?" Sophie asked in a guileless voice. "Only you have quite a weak stomach for killing and such."

"You do realise in any other house that would be a good thing right, Sophie?" Mal told her as he dropped to the floor at her side, shoving her head as he did. She gave him a wolfish smile.

"Everyone has their hobbies."

Blaise and Mal rolled their eyes.

"Harry..." Mal asked.

"What."

"You know I mentioned there was a bag of Christmas food on my bed?"

"Yes..."

"Well since I just sat down and you're still up can you go get it? Thanks!" Harry narrowed his eyes at Mal, who was grinning innocently. Rolling his eyes, he stalked off to the dormitories. As soon as he had left the common room, he dropped the grin and turned to Sophie and Blaise.

"All right, what are you really planning? As long as it's not actually _illegal_ I'm in."

"Oh I hoped you would say that." Sophie's smile turned maniacal.

"She's joking. I wasn't lying when I said all murder discussion had been hypothetical."

"Fun sucker. " Sophie pouted. "We came to ask Adrian if he could buy us a few things in Hogmeade next weekend."

"For Harry?" Mal asked

"No, for his pet monkey." Blaise said, voice scornful. "What do you think Malfoy?"

"Right, stupid question. My apologies."

"And we may have also discussed legal means of retribution on the Dursleys." Sophie smirked.

"Zonkos may have come up in conversation." Blaise and Mal shared a wicked grin.

"Dungbombs?"

"To start."

"You know..." Sophie said, tapping her chin, "The Weasley twins quite like Harry, and I'm sure they wouldn't be too impressed with the way the Muggles treat him either..."

"That's a very good point," Mal was sure that if the Weasley twins were involved, then their vengeance would be of brilliant proportions.

"What's a good point?" the three of them turned to see Harry looking between the three of them suspiciously.

"Nothing!" Blaise, Mal and Sophie chimed in unison, and Harry's unimpressed look grew.

"Sure. Whatever. I brought snacks."

"Yay, snacks!" Sophie chirped and Blaise raised a eyebrow.

"You're disturbed, you know that?"

"Snacks are good!" She protested.

Mal tuned out their habitual bickering, the faint stirrings of an idea coming into being in his head. Slytherins didn't take kindly to someone mistreating one of their own, and the Dursleys were going to find out exactly how much they didn't like it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N But it probably wasn't. I feel this chapter was 99% character development, 1% plot...mainly because all the plot is now in the next chapter. If you want to agree or disagree with me, feel free to comment, for I am a poor attention starved writer who feeds on attention :') PLU Tolrais


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mal and Co. return home for Christmas. Be warned there is mood whiplash at the end of this chapter.

The train to Kings Cross was almost full – bar the Weasley's and Harry, almost everyone was going home for Christmas. The festive spirit had infected everyone, it seemed, and it wasn't until Sophie was pelted with Bertie Botts that she stopped singing Christmas carols. It wasn't that she was a bad singer, but after three rounds of “O Come all Ye Faithful,” it did start to get a little wearing.  
“You are far too cheerful.” Blaise told her, and she grinned.  
“You're just jealous of my Christmas spirit.”  
“Is that what it's called?” Mal asked dryly, and the compartment filled with laughter. Sophie quietened down, throwing herself into a spiited discussion about Muggle books with Hermione, while Neville and Blaise got out a set of Gobstones. Mal settled back into seat and let the conversation wash over him. 

Leaving Harry and Ron back at school had left a sour note on the proceedings, but Mal felt slightly better knowing that Harry had a surprise waiting for him on Chritmas Day.  
Ron and Hermione had been horrified when they'd found out that Harry wasn't expecting any presents, and like Mal, they had immediately written home with pleas to get Harry something for Christmas. Malwas pretty sure that Mrs Weasley was knitting an extra jumper, while Hermione had ignored her parent's orthodontic influence and ordered Harry a box of Chocolate Frogs. Mal also had a snekaing suspicion that Pucey, their Quidditch team mate, had overheard Sophie and Blaise plotting and had come back from the last Hogsmeade visit with an oddly satisfied smirk on his face. 

Sadly, they hadn't managed to come up wityh suitable revenge for the Durseleys. Every thing they'd come up with was either far too tame, too difficult to pull off, or illegal. Even the Weasley twins' mischief making experience had failed them. Fred and George admittedly had some fantastic ideas, but they were all loud, flashy and borderline impossible to make untraceable. They weren't against law breaking per se, but Azkaban wasn't particularly appealing to any of them. Still, they hadn't lost hope. They were just waiting for an opportunity to present itself.  
“Mal? You in there?” Neville asked, round face inquisitive.  
“Huh? Oh yeah, I was just wishing we'd found a way to get back at Harry's dumb family before we left.”  
“Well we could have sent them Stinksap, but you all said it was stupid.”  
“It was stupid.” Blaise rolled his eyes. “No class, whatsoever. And don't even get me started on most of Sophie's idea's.”  
Sophie pulled a face, then gave a little squeak, bouncing in her chair as she looked out of the window.  
“We're nearly there! We're nearly there!”  
She jumped up, pulling her shoes from under the train bench, where she'd thrown them about an hour into the journey.

Mal’s grin broadened as they as they pulled into platform 9 3/4s, secretly as gleeful as Sophie. Why, he wasn't quite sure; she'd spent half the journey complaining about her cousin, but still, she hadn't seen her parents in months and that tended to do strange things to most people.

They pushed off the train, gripping tightly to their trunks, batted from side to side by the swarms of homeward bound students.  
“Well, I see my Gran.” Neville announced, a look of gloom on his round face as he nodded towards a spectacularly ugly hat visible above the crowd. The masses parted, and Mal laughed as he saw his own welcome party. Tonks hadn't seen him yet, but she was hard to miss – like Sophie, she'd got into the spirit of things, and her hair was striped red and green in honour of the season.  
“And I see Tonks. See you all after the holidays. Merry Christmas!”  
“Don't forget to write!” Sophie sang, and Hermione rolled her eyes as the two of them pushed through the crowd towards the station clock. Blaise and Neville followed, and Mal waved in farewell as he made his way to Tonks.  
Her face lit up as she saw him, waving with both hands.  
“Wotcher! Oh, it's so good to see you!” She pulled him into a hug.  
“Tonks!” Mal protested, pulling away before giving in. “Good to see you too.” He smirked as she let him go. “Nice hair.”  
“Yeah, yeah. It's Christmas! A time for gooey happy feelings, not cynicism, let me have my moment.” She rolled her eyes, taking hold of his trunk with one hand. “Just let me get this home, and then we can go to Diagon.”  
“We're not going straight back?” Mal frowned and Tonks looked sheepish.  
“Mum’s cleaning. To be honest, I think she wants me out of the way, but we can go Christmas shopping and you can tell me what you've been up to – without leaving anything out.” She shot Mal an accusatory glare, and he was suddenly reminded of Tonks’ chosen profession. He shifted slightly, before nodding.  
“Sounds good.”  
“Great!” Tonks grin widened, and they took advantage of the rapidly thinning crowds to make their way to the Apparition point. “I'll be back in two seconds, don't move.”  
She was as good as her words, arriving back only moments after she left.  
“Right, let's go! Mum asked me to pick some stuff up, and then we can head back.”  
They made their way through the crowds, opting to take the Tube rather than brave the dismal December weather. They made it to the Leaky Cauldron in good time, if somewhat traumatised by the sheer mass of humanity crammed into one Tube car.  
Diagon was just as busy, and what was meant to only take half an hour ended up taking three. Not that that was entirely the crowds’ fault; they did spend about half an hour in Zonko’s looking for presents for Ron, Harry and Neville, then another in Flourish and Blott’s for Hermione, Sophie and Blaise. Then Tonks got taken hostage by a work colleague in the Apothecary and, and it wasn't until Mal accidentally on purpose knocked over a barrel of lacewings that they managed to escape.  
Finally, they managed to get everything they needed, plus a few extra things they didn't need per se, but after all, if you had the money why not spend it? And so it was with tired feet and aching arms that they collapsed into a booth in Florean Fortescue’s, the ice cream parlour still doing booming business despite the cold.  
“Oof!” Tonks grunted as dropped her bags under the table. “I'm absolutely knackered! A hot fudge sundae and…ooh, a mulled wine please.” This last was directed at the smiling waitress who’d come to take their order, her red and white striped apron fitting in perfectly with the decorations.  
“The same for me, please.” Mal added. Tonks raised her eyebrows. “But a hot Butterbeer, not mulled wine.” He amended, pulling a face at Tonks. “Spoilsport.” He muttered after the waitress left.  
“Responsible adult.” She retorted, and Mal scoffed. “I am! Besides, mum’d probably hex me halfway to Hogsmeade if I brought you home drunk.”  
“I've had alcohol before!”  
“And you're a pathetic lightweight.” Mal glowered at her, and she rolled her eyes. “Oh come off it, Draco, you're eleven. I'd be worried if you're weren't.”  
Mal sighed melodramatically, and Tonks laughed. “Anyway, now we've got your rebellious phase out of the way, what’ve you been up to? First a troll, and then a teacher apparently trying to kill Harry, what next? Dragons in the Astronomy Tower?” She demanded, almost bouncing in her seat. Mal rolled his eyes.  
“Like that'd happen.” Sometimes Tonks got a bit carried away. “But actually…” He told her everything. The three headed dog – Fluffy, Mal reminded himself, Hermione's foray into pyromania, and their suspicions about the links between the break in at Gringotts. “And Hagrid said that whatever it was, it was between Dumbledore and Nicholas Flamel.” Mal finished, deepening his voice in an effort to mimic Hagrid. Across the table, Tonks’ eyes were wide, her face thoughtful. She played with her sundae spoon, their order having arrived halfway through Mal’s account. “Well?” Mal asked.  
“To be honest, I'm not really sure what you want me to say. I mean, I'm not gonna have a go at you for breaking the rules or anything,” she flashed a small grin. “But all the same…” She trailed off, face growing serious again. “It seems like whatever this is, Mal, it's pretty dangerous.”  
“But do you at least know who Flamel is?” Mal pressed.  
“And of course you won't leave it alone, whatever I say.” Tonks muttered to herself. “Flamel…the name sounds familiar…NEWT potions, maybe? I'll check my notes when we get home.”  
“You're the best!”  
“I know,” Tonks gave a cheeky grin, then a half stifled yelp as she caught sight of the time. “Oh shhh-ugar lumps, I was supposed to have you home an hour ago, Mum’ll kill me!”  
Mal considered bringing up his cousins frankly pitiful attempt at hiding her foul language, or, at the very least pointing out that the sixth and seventh years swore like sailors, but given the panicked look on her face, decided to let it go. For now.  
The crowds outside had at least thinned, and they managed to get to the Leaky Cauldron with relative ease.

Mal stumbled out of the Floo to find Aunt Drom already in full flow.  
“-Not good enough, Nymphadora! You're 19 years old, you need to be more responsible! How do you expect to be taken seriously if-“  
A large hand touched Mal’s shoulder, he turned to see Uncle Ted, smiling sympathetically.  
“Want to come help me get the tea ready?” He asked, voice raised slightly to be heard over his wife's tirade. Mal glanced over to the other side of the lounge, where Aunt Drom didn't look to be stopping anytime soon. A stubborn look was beginning to spread over Tonks’ face, and from past experience, that meant she’d be shouting back any second now.  
“I think that's probably a good idea.” Mal agreed, and they beat a hasty exit for the kitchen. Mal dropped into his place at the table, and turned his hand to the pile of carrots waiting for him.  
“Let me guess, you stopped for ice cream?” Uncle Ted’s voice was full of amusement, and Mal gave a sheepish grin.  
“Maybe…?”  
Ted laughed, a hearty, booming sound.  
“Well, I can't say I'm surprised, between you and Dora you probably keep him business, with your sweet-tooths.”  
“Thanks Ted.” Mal muttered, sarcasm heavy in his voice.  
“M’only teasing. How's school going? Enjoying it?”  
“Yeah, it's great! I've made loads of new friends.”  
“Including Harry Potter?”  
“Yeah, Harry's great. Freaked people out when he got sorted into Slytherin, but after the Quidditch match last month, people have stopped giving him stick.”  
“Oh?”  
Mal gave Ted a highly edited version of the story he'd told Tonks, leaving out their suspicions about someone trying to kill Harry, as well as Hermione setting Professor Quirrel on fire. The talk of Hogwarts carried on until well after dinner, Mal's family taking the opportunity to regale him with tales from their own time at Hogwarts. Some he'd heard before, but now, having been at Hogwarts himself, they took on a new meaning.  
“And I have to say, I was personally very pleased you were sorted into Slytherin, Draco. Now, at the very least, I won't be outnumbered.” Aunt Drom teased.  
“They're Hufflepuffs, what are they going to do?”  
Tonks sat up in indignation.  
“They can hex you so your knee joints face backwards!” She retorted, and Aunt Drom rolled her eyes.  
“Nymphadora, really. It isn't seemly to threaten your cousin at the dinner table.”  
“So I can threaten him in the lounge then?”  
“Yes, Dora, you may leave the table, providing you clear it first. Just try not to drop anything, please.”  
Uncle Ted watched his wife and daughter fondly, and Mal grinned. Then his grin faded as he thought of Harry back at Hogwarts. He'd never had anything like this.

The rest of the week passed in a blur. What with trips to the cinema, a quidditch match in freezing rain and general last minute preparations, it wasn't until the morning before Christmas Eve that Tonks got a chance to look up Nicholas Flamel. Mal was nearly startled out of his skin as the trapdoor that led to his room burst open, Tonks’ hand waving wildly as she brandished a roll of parchment.  
“Found it!”  
“Merlin's pants, Tonks! Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” Mal demanded. Tonks waved the accusation away with the hand holding the parchment, hauling herself up through the gap.  
“Stop being so melodramatic. I found him!”  
“Found who?”  
“Flamel, dung for brains! I said I'd heard of him didn't I?” She dropped onto the end of Mal's bed, missing his feet by inches. “Here: ‘There have been many famous alchemists, such as Paracelsus (real name Philippus Aureolus Theophrastus Bombastus von Hohenheim, 1493 – 1541) and John Dee, (1527 – 1608 or 09) who was in fact personal magician to the Muggle Queen Elizabeth I. Dee is best known…’ Yeah yeah yeah…where was it? Aha got you, you little bastard!” She coughed sheepishly. “‘But perhaps the most famous of all know Alchemists is Nicholas Flamel, (born around 1330) who is renowned for creating the only known working example of the Philosopher’s Stone. The Philosopher’s Stone is not only remarkable in that it breaks Gamp’s Laws of Transfiguration, in that it can create gold, but perhaps more impressively, the elixir of life.” Tonks paused significantly, eyes wide.  
“Wait, I don't get it.” Mal was confused. If Flamel lived hundreds of years ago, how could he have anything to do with what was going on at Hogwarts now?  
“The elixir of eternal life, Mal. Flamel’s still alive – so’s his wife, as far as I remember.”  
“Woah.”  
“Woah is right.”  
They both lapsed into silence, lost in thought. Mal could barely believe what he'd been hearing. If it weren't for the fact that he'd been brought up with magic, he'd never believe a word. Even as it was, it was entirely surreal. A three headed dog guarding the secret to eternal life. It sounded like the punchline to a joke! Eventually Tonks spoke up.  
“Look, I know you told me because you knew I wouldn't sell you out…” She paused, brow furrowed as her hair lightened to match Mal's own shade, heightening the resemblance between them. “But like I said the other day, this is dangerous stuff you're messing about with. You could get really badly hurt.”  
“But what if someone is trying to steal whatever's on the third floor?” Mal protested.  
“Then you hope that the defences that several experienced witches and wizards have put in place will do more good than a bunch of eleven year olds running off half cocked.”  
Mal's eyes narrowed. That didn't sound like Tonks was guessing.  
“You knew?”  
“It’s not like I knew anything concrete!” She protested. “The only reason I knew anything at all was because Mad Eye wanted to show me that not even somewhere like Gringotts is safe. All I knew was that Dumbledore had had something valuable moved the day before the robbery – and as far as I thought, you had nothing to do with it.”  
To his credit, Mal managed to look a little sheepish – but still that was beside the point.  
“So what defences does it have?” he demanded.  
“I don’t know exactly.” Tonks sighed, unhappily. “I just know that Professor Sprout, Flitwick, McGonagall, Snape, Quirrel and Professor Dumbledore were involved. And Hagrid too, I guess.” She added.  
“So Snape and Quirrel probably know what the protection is? That doesn’t exactly make me feel safe.”  
“Mal, drop it!” Tonks snapped, uncharacteristically abrupt. “I don’t know, and I don’t want you running around…poking dragons with a stick. You could get yourself killed.” She glared at him, running a hand through her already ruffled hair. “Look, if you really think – and that’s a plural you, by the way, if you really think that someone's after the Stone and Dumbledore doesn't know...just…tell someone, please. I highly doubt a group of eleven year olds is gonna fare very well against a dark wizard.”  
“But-“  
“Mal…” She looked at him, eyes beseeching, and he slumped back onto his pillows.  
“Fine...” Mal avoided Tonks' gaze, He knew she was right, but what could they do? Casually mention to someone at the school that they'd been poking around on the third floor corridor, they'd seen Snape casting a jinx and that Hermione had set him on fire, they were pretty sure that either Snape or Quirrel was trying to pinch the secret to eternal life and Harry wants to stop them? Fat chance. If even Tonks was shouting them down...wait, Tonks was an adult. He smirked.  
“Tonks...” He began.  
“What?” Her eyes narrowed.  
“You're an adult and I told you.”  
Tonks gave Mal what was perhaps the singularly most unimpressed look he'd ever seen in his life.  
“Nice try brat, but I meant a real adult. And didn';t you tell me because I'm not a propere adult? Trust me Mal, if adulthood were a broom, I'd still have stabilisers. You need to tell someone who can actually do something about it.”  
“But what if I tell the wrong person and they try and kill Harry again? Or me?” Draco protested.  
“So pick someone you trust. Draco, please...”  
Oh Merlin’s pants, she’s serious. Mal huffed, admitting at least partial defeat.  
“As soon as we get the Omnioculars back, I will, I promise.”  
Tonks didn't look happy, and Mal could tell that Cousin Dora, surrogate big sister and secret keeper was battling responsible Auror Trainee Tonks for dominance. Eventually, big sister Tonks won out and she gave a long-suffering sigh.  
“Fine, but you have to tell someone as soon as you do. Promise?”  
He rolled eyes, then nodded.  
“We will, I swear.”  
Tonks levelled a hard look at Draco.”  
“I'm telling the truth Nymphadora!”  
She chuckled, then grinned ruefully.  
“Good. And you better owl me as soon as you do, else I'll take matters into my own hands.”  
“Dora! Draco! It's time for lunch!” Aunt Drom's voice filtered up to the attic and the cousins grinned, serious issues put aside, but not forgotten.

Christmas Day was perhaps Mal's best ever. Presents from friends and family, his Uncle's cooking, and a long walk on Boxing Day in the cold winter sun made for two days of laughter and contentment. And it made the tradition of the 27th even harder to bear.

They started in the morning. A quick trip to a small church in Wiltshire. Narcissa Malfoy had been born a Black but she'd died a Malfoy, and so was buried with her husband's family. There was a frost on the ground and Draco's breath curled in the air as he lay flowers on his mother's grave.  
He shuffled awkwardly on the spot, unsure of what to say.  
“Um...hi mum. I went to Hogwarts this year. I actually met Harry Potter and he's a Slytherin, can you believe it? We're actually pretty good friends. Ron and Neville were sorted into Gryffindor, which was annoying but I suppose at least they're not Hufflepuff hmm?” Mal gave a soft chuckle imagining Tonks' indignation at his last statement. “I don't think you'd approve of some of my other friend's though. Blaise Zabini's the 'right sort', but Hermione's a Muggleborn – and the smartest witch in the whole year and I'm not even sure what Sophie is, other than the complete opposite of ladylike. She's funny though, and smart too, just lazy.”  
He paused awkwardly, trying to think of what to say.  
“Hogwarts is amazing. Some of the teachers are mad, and honestly whose idea was it to have staircases that move?” his voice rose in indignation. “It's easy enough to get lost as it is! But the food is fantastic and the grounds are incredible.” He stamped his feet, trying to stay warm. “Oh! I'm a reserve on the Quidditch team! Harry is Slytherin Seeker, can you believe it? It's so unfair, but he is annoying gifted. Still, Flint said I had a good chance of being Chaser next year when I can have my own broom. Between you and me, I'm saving up for a Nimbus 2001 and then I might actually stand a chance of beating Harry.” Mal smirked briefly, then returned to seriouness.  
“Aunt Drom and Uncle Ted are still taking good care of me, you needn't worry...Tonks is doing well in her Auror training, and its super weird how much she looks like you when she goes blonde...” Mal swallowed.  
“I like to think that if you'd survived you would hgave made peace with Aunt Drom and I could have had the both of you in my life...but I know I'm so lucky with what I already have mum – Harry's family barely tolerate him, let alone love him and it's just...crazy. The Boy Who Lived's family hate him, whereas my Muggleborn uncle took in the son of a Death Eater...” Draco gave a bitter laugh. “Sorry mum, I didn't mean that. Well I did but well, anyway.” He coughed. “I have to go now mum. I'll and come by sooner next time. I think Aunt Drom wanted some time with you though.” his voice dropped to a whisper. “Love you, mummy.”  
Draco stepped away from the grave and then tripped his way up the chuchyard path, dodging the icy patches. Inside the little church, Andromeda was waiting for him, she smiled sadly as the crossed paths, and Mal slipped into one of the pews to wait for his aunt.  
He'd been christened in the church. Rays of weak winter sunshine slipped through the Norman arches, falling onto the font at the front of the church. It was one of the few things that the Malfoy's still shared with the Muggles of the estate village, generation's of Malfoys having being named and presented in the same little building, all the way back to when it was first built in William's time. His parent's had been married there as well, and Draco also believed he could see them kneeling before the altar, resplendent in their dress robes. He sighed heavily. It wasn't that he didn't love his aunt and uncle, he really did, but he couldn't help but dwell on could have been and maybe's!”  
The door creaked and Draco looked to the back of the church to see his aunt waiting for him. She looked at him solemnly and asked the same question she did every year.  
“Are you sure you want to go? We won't think any less of you if you don't.”  
Draco shook his head.  
“I have to. I'm fine Aunt Drom, really.”  
She nodded in acceptance then held out her arm for Mal to take a hold of. He winced as the vice like grip of Side-Along Aspparition took him and thenthey were in the midst of a waiting room full of the more bizarre and horrific ways that magic could go wrong.  
They slipped past the Welcome Witch, who gave Andromeda a careless wave as she dealt with a with who seemed to have turned herself black and white, like an old photograph. Up the stairs they went until finally they reached their destination. St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, Fourth floor, Janus Thickey Ward. They knocked quietly on the door and waited Healer Strout unlocked it, ushering them inside.

Draco hated St Mungo's, the smell, the oppresive atmosphere, the stark lighting. Even on a ward like this one, where some of the longterm residents had stamped their personality on their own area, there was clinical atmosphere that Draco hated. Still it was perhaps more what the hospital represented than the bulding itself that he hated.

He threaded a familiar path through the ward, eyes averted from the Longbottom's beds. Hadn't that been awkward, the year that he and Neville had visited on the same day? The brother-in-law of the woman who had tortured Neville's parents into insanity was only a few beds away after all. 

Draco half fell into the seat next to his father's bed. Lucius was awake, and Draco wasn't sure if that was worse. At least when his father was asleep, he could pretend that maybe one day he might wake up and be himself again. That said, from what his aunt had told him, Draco wasn't entirely sure whether his father being himself was ag ood thing either. Still, it was hard, seeing him like this. Lucius's fine silver hair, so like Draco's own, fell past his shoulders like spun silk, his aristocratic features gaunt and his eyes hollowed. A shadow of a man.

Mal looked away as his father's shifted and his sleeve slipped, revealing a snake and skull tattoo. Despite the faintness of its lines, the Dark Mark still stood starkly against Lucius Malfoy's translucent skin, a grim reminder of his time as one of the Dark Lord's minions. Had he not been driven entirely insane by the Cruciatus, he would have been languishing in a cell long ago, but Andromeda's influence at St Mungo's had ensured he was allowed at least a modicum of dignity. He was, after all, trapped in the prison of his broken mind, with no way out. Surely that was punishment enough for whatever crimes he had committed?

Draco always found it harder to talk to his father than his mother. Maybe it was the privacy that Wiltshire offered. Maybe it was easier to imagine his mother whole and healthy when he wasn't confronted with a shell of the person she used to be, but either way, although Mal usually ended up spending twice as long in his father's nominal prescence, he said maybe a total of 10 words the whole time he was there. Andromeda at least gave him space, talking quietly with Healer Strout while he sat in near silence with his father. After an hour had passed, Andromeda gave him a meaningful look and Draco stood up.  
“I have to go now father. I'll see you again soon, I promise.”  
For the first time in months, Lucius's eyes focused on something other than the distance. He frowned as he looked at Draco and his lips parted. Draco's breath hitched in his throat.  
“Goodbye father.”  
Lucius reached out and briefly clasped his son's hand. Draco squeezed tightly, feeling the bones underneath the pale skin and he blinked hard as hot tears threatened to make an appearance. Silently, Andromeda appeared at his side and Draco let Lucius's hand fall, where it lay unmoving on the counterpane.  
“Come on sweetheart, it's time to go.”  
As they left the ward, Draco couldn't help but look back, Lucius was still, a slight figure in a hosital robe. He was a marble statue, pale, cold, unmoving. Draco's heart panged, longing to see life in a face that in his memory he had never seen smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh. I realise that I haven't updated in forever, and for that I apologise. But I started the final year of my Bachelor's last September and spent the first half of this year writing my dissertation. I graduated this summer and then apparently the spirit of lunacy possessed me as I then decided to start a Masters this September. It's a lot of fun, but it's incredibly intense and I'm usually incredibly drained by the time I get home. I do intend to finish this fic, but I can't even guarantee updates, let alone when they'll be, so please, have patience. I have a little more of this that I was going to do over NaNoWriMo, but then uni happened, as it is wont to do. There was also a period of homelessness, a lack of internet and relationship drama over the last few months, but hohum! I do break up for Christmas on the 15th, so perhaps I can get a bit of ficton writig done in between essays, articles and revision. On the plus side, I have around 1100 words of another chapter and a resonable outline. (And yes, the Dursleys WILL get their comeuppance).  
> Sorry for the ramble :')


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